


Educating Elena

by MuggleWitch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-14 02:24:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 161,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5726296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuggleWitch/pseuds/MuggleWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus Snape survived the war and Nagini's bite. He's seriously pissed off about it and lying low at Spinner's End, fearing retribution and the dragging-out-into-the-open of his private life. Until, one day, there is a knock on the door … Introducing Elena (OC), a Muggle student of linguistics and dancing teacher who finds out that she is really a witch ...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Hiding

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Of course, the Harry Potter universe is none other's than JK Rowling's. I am just humbly dabbling in it, and not in my mother tongue, either, so please be gentle (native English speakers welcome to correct my mistakes!). This story takes place after Harry's victory over Voldemort. Severus Snape has survived – the only reason why I am writing this, really – however, he fears retribution from his former Death Eater associates as well as the dragging-out-into-the-open of his private life. As a result, he is lying low at Spinner's End until, one day, there's a knock on the door …
> 
> By the way, Remus Lupin – another one of my favourite HP characters – survived, as well, but he is heartbroken over the death of his beloved wife.
> 
> This started as a lark and is turning into a soap opera. To date (January 2016), I have written close to 150.000 words and am not yet tired of it. Probably, I should call this story "In Search of Lost Snape". Time to put it to the test (and what better date could there be to start uploading than 09 January, Severus' birthday?) … better bring some patience. 
> 
> Many thanks to my first audience, Verena, Christine and Tanja, for their input and for pointing out spelling, logical and existential mistakes. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**In Hiding**

 

Severus Snape lay flat on his back on the mattress in his old bedroom, wand in hand, shooting down flies. It brought him no pleasure, but it was a way to pass the time. The room was as gloomy as ever, smelling of wear and mildew. Outside a rainy summer’s day was drawing to a close and silence lay oppressively in the narrow, deserted streets between cramped rows of run-down houses.

Every now and then his hand reached up to the bandages wrapping his neck, checking for moisture. The wound itched like a mother. The healing process was slow, even the potion he had brewed in the cellar of his home didn’t help much. But then, what would you expect, having been bitten by a magically enhanced snake comprising the fragmented soul of one of the darkest wizards the world had ever known?

He pushed the thought aside. Every time the image of Nagini appeared before his inner eye – fangs bared, hissing, stinking – a chill ran down his spine. No use dwelling on that. The spectre would come back at night, in his dreams, to haunt him.

Another thought that he didn’t allow himself to ponder was the miraculous fact of his survival. It made no sense, and in addition to that he considered it cruel. Severus Snape had never expected to survive the war and had always tossed away that possibility as expecting too much luck, and as he very well knew – as bloody damn _everyone_ knew these days – his life had never been a lucky one. He hadn’t minded the prospect of death. Time and again he had told himself that there was nothing for him once the war was over and so the idea had long ago ceased to scare him. Over the years, he had even come to see it as the well-deserved reward for his actions, for his life under the control of two masters, his existence as an eternal servant who wouldn’t even have known how to fill a life that belonged exclusively to himself.

The reward had been denied. Life had been given instead, one burden replaced by another. What an irony.

For the past weeks, Severus had been lying low at Spinner’s End. An intricate system of alerting and locking charms was firmly in place and no one would bother him unless he allowed them to. ‘Not any time soon’, he had promised himself, not until all the fuss had died down, the daily reports in the _Prophet_ on the glorious victory of one Harry Potter, the exact sequence of events during the Battle of Hogwarts and the ecstatic jubilation on the perseverance of what was now commonly referred to as _The Good_. Such profusions extracted nothing but a snort from Snape. He had seen first-hand how closely together good and evil were and how quickly some people changed sides. He had no time for selfish celebrations, either. If anything, they clouded judgment and made the truth come out all wrong.

Of course he _did_ read the _Daily Prophet_. Not because he was particularly interested in the reports, as he told himself, but because it had been his habit for years, decades even. As a result he was up to date. He knew about the testimony that ‘The Boy Who Lived Once More’ had recently given at the Wizengamot, in which – among many other facts – he had stated the significance of his, Snape’s, part in the victory. Severus hated to admit that Potter had been a good boy. He had mentioned that Snape had been his mother’s childhood friend, angered by her death at the hands of the Dark Lord and that this had been only one of a range of motives for the potions master’s decision to work for Dumbledore and cunningly betray Tom Riddle (as the Dark Lord was nowadays commonly referred to, to deconstruct him, after decades of not even daring to utter his name). Not a mention of finer feelings, no hint even of unrequited love. That the press had come up with by themselves, following the lead of one Rita Skeeter. And although Severus was aware of the fact that the conclusion didn’t exactly require a leap of imagination, he had made a mental note to personally turn this infernal woman into a toad should he ever run into her. Actually, she _had_ turned up at his doorstep about a week ago, with her notepad and her impatiently jerking quill. At that point, a torrential brownish rain smelling conspicuously of dog-shit had poured down on her. (In order to turn her into a toad, he would have had to show himself.) She had never tried again, nor had any of her nosy, drama-hunting colleagues. His non-too-subtle message had been duly received.

Another fact he had read about in the papers was the beheading of his nemesis Nagini with the sword of Gryffindor, by Neville Longbottom of all people. Severus had quickly done some calculations. There appeared to be a time coincidence between said beheading and his own waking up in the Shrieking Shack, weak, shaking, soggy with blood. (He hadn’t even been able to walk at first, crawling to a hiding place instead on his hands and knees, waiting for his strength to gather just enough so he had been able to Disapparate to Spinner’s End, which he had hardly left since.) So if his guess wasn’t too far off – and he feared it wasn’t – Longbottom had saved his life. Realizing this had almost made Severus puke.

His showing up in the wizarding world at this point was not at issue. He hated the idea of people asking him questions, wanting to shake his hand, showing gratitude, or – even worse – sympathising. He had no wish to play any part in the general exhilaration, either. Least of all, he wanted anyone to gawk at his bandaged neck. All he had ever wanted in the last sixteen years was to be left alone. Now, finally, was the time to grant himself that wish, never mind that he was already bored to pieces.

 

* * *

 

When he couldn’t find any more flies on the walls – they seemed to communicate with and warn one another that the master of the house was seriously pissed off and that it was better to stay out of his wand’s reach – he struggled up from the mattress with a sigh. He looked around the shabby room, the grubby furniture, the threadbare textiles, found nothing new and stepped out into the hallway which was gloomier than usual at this time of day. He had never spent much time in this house, only a few weeks a year at most. His home was Hogwarts, had been ever since he boarded the train at platform no. 9 ¾ when he was eleven. To him, Spinner’s End was nothing more than a roof over his head when he had no place else to go.

Severus Snape strolled down the squeaking staircase and entered the sitting room. It was dusty and in desperate need of cleaning. But then, it had always been that way. His mother had never been a good housewife, chiefly because her neat little helpmeet spells had at first been awed out of her by her husband’s ‘charms’, and later she’d stopped caring. Since said husband’s death under conspicuous circumstances eight years ago, she had gone to live with her sister in Ireland and had not once looked back at her existence at the poor Spinner’s End address. Yet, almost every week Severus received an owl from her. The usual passive-aggressive reproaches had recently been sugar-coated with overawed respect. After all, she was as avid a reader of the _Prophet_ as he. In her last communication she had even offered to come live with him, look after him. He hadn’t even bothered to answer.

Speaking of owls … The letter from McGonagall still sat on the low table near the fireplace. He hadn’t responded to that one either, but once a day he found himself picking it up and reading it.

 

_Severus,_

_We know everything. You are completely forgiven. Please come back to Hogwarts. No reprimands, no strings attached._

_Sincerely,_

_Minerva_

 

He couldn’t have explained to anyone why it gave him such satisfaction to read this letter unless there was still an insecure boy living inside him, eager for attention and respect. The grown man Severus Snape, of that he was certain, was beyond such vanities. And yet …

A shrill scream pierced the silence of the room where only a large grandfather clock reminded him of the painfully slow passage of time. More by instinct than curiosity, Severus strode over to the window and carefully peered outside. The cobbled road between the narrow grey-brick houses was dusky now, and with most of the streetlamps smashed, the only visible light was held by a few windows of the neighbouring houses. Not all the buildings were deserted; in some of them, old people, single mothers with screaming kids and an odd assortment of frustrated characters led a squalid life in the shadows of society. A bunch of boys – about thirteen or fourteen years old, swaggering and trying hard not to choke on cigarettes – was hanging around near his house, and they looked startled, staring about one another to locate the source of the noise of which an echo still lingered in the street.

Only a few seconds later, there was a loud clattering as of a pile of sheet-metal pans crashing simultaneously to a stone floor. The racket obviously came from one of the nearby run-down abodes. Then there was another scream.

“Get off me, bitch! I don’t know you! Get off me!”

Severus signed. He had heard similar screaming before, more in the way of “Get off me, you bastard” and “I wish I’d never known you”, but there didn’t seem to be a whole lot of difference. He turned away from the window. What did he care? Let the Muggles fight, it had nothing to do with him. In fact, it was no more than background noise which he could easily ignore.

What to do now with this early evening? He calculated the hours until which he could allow himself to go to sleep. It mustn’t be too early or he would lie awake until the small hours. His usual strategy was to consume as much of Ogden’s Old Fire Whiskey until he’d almost pass out. It was good against the pain from his wound, too, but unfortunately still way too early for that.

He went to the grubby kitchen, drank some water, ate bread and a piece of cheese, an apple for dessert. Too frugal a meal to keep him busy for long. So he strolled down to the cellar and checked on the various potions that were simmering in their cauldrons. One of them hadn’t come off at all as he wanted, so again he was occupied for a while with being pissed off. However, the anger wore off quickly and turned to resignation. He rarely found himself in a permanently angry mood these days, other than being a generally not very cheerful person. Maybe Nagini had killed that when she should really have killed him along with it.

At least he had a plan now. He returned to the sitting room, took _The Alchemy Almanach_ from the shelf and spent the next two hours trying to find out what might be the problem with his potion. After that, finally, the right hour for Fire Whiskey had arrived …

 

* * *

 

The next morning, he awoke with a serious pounding inside his head. In addition to his hurting neck, his throat was now parched and dry, as well. He probably shouldn’t have finished off the whole bottle.

It took him a while to realize that the pounding didn’t actually come from inside his head so much, but from the front door downstairs. With considerable effort, he dragged himself out of bed and wandered out onto the landing to the Peephole Glass he had installed there. He had found this useful little magical apparatus in Knockturn Alley years ago and it allowed him to overlook the cobbled street without having to show himself at the window.

Muggles, unmistakably. A man and a woman, squat and with a brisk air of importance on their faces. The woman was carrying some kind of flip-board. Jehova’s witnesses probably, hunting for members. Or whatever. Why had he even bothered to get up? Now he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep.

Being alert was of the essence, though. Twice or three times since he had gone into hiding at Spinner’s End, he had seen two cloaked figures standing near the house, observing it. Death Eaters, of that he had been certain. He had received ample warning that some of his old associates were angry with him for having betrayed them for so many years and for having brought about the Dark Lord’s – and hence their – demise. Some of them, according to an owl that Kingsley Shacklebolt had graciously sent him, had presumably sworn vengeance and were out to kill him. _They haven’t all been caught yet, a lot of your old cronies have gone into hiding. As you do not seem to have any intention of helping us find them, you’d be wise to protect yourself, seek strength in numbers. On your own, you could too easily become a target._

However, Severus had never liked Kingsley Shaklebolt – the badly hidden criticism in the letter had not improved his attitude – and this mere fact forbade him to follow the man’s advice. What was more, however, he was convinced that he was well-equipped to deal with any kind of threat himself. If the Dark Lord hadn’t scared him (he _had_ , but Snape would never tell anyone that), why would he start to tremble in panic because of a few down-and-out Death Eaters on the warpath? And after all, hadn’t he wanted to die? Hadn’t he even been eager for the point when this miserable joke of a life that was his own would finally come to a close? Maybe, one fine day he would step out to meet them, look them square in the eyes and let them do the job that Nagini hadn’t been able to finish.

Maybe. One of these days.

 

By mid-afternoon and with the worst of the hang-over gone, Severus Snape stood in his grimy bathroom, inspecting himself in the mirror. Another action that gave him no pleasure and never had, but he carefully observed the growth of a black beard. It had developed considerably, but was yet not dense enough to cover his face to the effect he hoped for. Another week maybe and he could risk it. Cut his hair a bit, exchange his black garb for something else – though he had yet no idea what – and maybe don a hat. With luck, it would be enough to allow him to venture out anonymously. Apparate in Diagon Alley, keeping to the side roads, of course, buy some potions ingredients and browse in his favourite bookshop on Paracelsus Street. With even more luck, nobody might recognize him. Well, there was a dream …

When he came down to the sitting room, two owls had arrived, one of them carrying the _Prophet_ , the other one a piece of parchment carrying the Malfoy sigils. Severus impatiently tore the latter open, his eyes flying cursorily over the words rendered in a shaky hand.

 

_… I must be out of my mind to demean myself in this way … seeking contact to a damn traitor such as yourself … even though the Dark Lord was clearly deranged in these last months and I have not cried a tear over him … still expected you to honour our ideas … principles … our friendship … conversations during all those evenings you spent with us at Malfoy Manor on the importance of blood supremacy … thought you shared our point of view … most disappointed to have been so wrong … abused our trust to a most dismal extent … Narcissa beside herself … not to mention Draco … has become silent and withdrawn … to even imagine you have been such an influence on our boy … never even think of coming near us again …_

 

Severus stopped reading halfway through. With a lazy flick of his wand, he lit the fireplace and threw the letter in. While he watched the flames licking at Lucius’ correspondence, he felt a painful pang of regret. Another friend gone. A very misguided friend, of course, but in that they had always been alike and Severus had hoped that after what the Malfoys had endured under the control of the Dark Lord, Lucius would come to see his point and understand why he had switched allegiance and betrayed him. As it seemed, though, the Malfoys’ pride was stronger than their insight.

Before he could dwell too much on the cutting words, there was another knock on the door, a very soft and cautious one. Not those bloody people with their flip-board again?! Or Death Eaters … No. They wouldn’t knock and certainly not in such a timid manner. It must be Muggles. No need to answer the door.

Instead he went down to the cellar and checked on the recalcitrant potion again. He had added verbena and amygdala last night, hoping it would do the trick. The liquid was much clearer now, but the smell offended his nostrils. Too much boomslang, maybe? Severus sighed while his mind travelled upstairs again. Not to Lucius’ letter shrivelling in the fireplace, but to the timid knock on his front door. There had been something about it which he could not place. Why he should even waste a thought on it he didn’t know.

Probably the boredom really started to get the better of him and cloud his good judgment?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	2. An Unexpected Visitor

**An Unexpected Visitor**

 

A few days later, while he was still bored and still not content with the development of either his beard or the healing potion he was trying to concoct, the knock returned. It was from the same person, of that he was certain. It seemed to beckon to him, order him even to get up from his actually quite comfortable chair and put the _Alchemy Almanach_ aside.

To tell the truth, there had been a number of knocks in the past few days. As he had ascertained through the Peephole Glass, it had been the squat couple with the flip-board again, the one that had ripped him out of his sleep that morning when he had been so hung-over. He hadn’t bothered, of course. Now, however, it was the timid knock once more, the one he had half-consciously wondered about on two or three occasions although there was no telling why it had intrigued him so.

Normally, Severus Snape wasn’t an easy victim to curiosity. However, weeks of being cooped up at Spinner’s End and hardly ever venturing out had done something to him which resembled the beginnings of madness. A few times, he had caught himself peering out of the window like an old woman. He had even found out that the two tykes living in the adjacent house and screaming to high heaven every morning were called Luke and Leia, a detail he would never have remembered or cared about in his saner moments. Before he could think about it, he found that he had gotten up and started to walk over to the door.

It swung open.

In front of it, in a pool of sunlight, stood Lily Evans, green eyes bright, red hair ablaze.

Severus blinked hard.

In that moment, a cloud moved across the sun and the illusion was revealed for what it was.

What had looked like auburn hair was really a light brown with a mere tinge of mahogany; the eyes, although green, were considerably darker and only highlighted by red-rimmed lids. Her face, though not without resemblance, held dark arched brows and prominent cheekbones. She wore the usual Muggle garb of blue jeans, slim T-shirt and sneakers and looked at him apprehensively.

“I’m very sorry to bother you, Mr …” The dark eyes travelled to the door post in search of a bell with a label that would give away his surname, but found none. “Well … sir”, she amended since he offered no assistance.

Severus bit down on a ‘You already have’ and uttered a curt “What is it?” instead.

“I .. I’m …” she stuttered, then trailed of, wringing her hands.

He was already losing his patience. Incoherent, timid and as Muggle as can be. Hadn’t he been so bored, he would have simply shut the door in her face. “You came here a few days ago”, he snarled. “I recognized your knock.”

She looked up in astonishment, eyes wide. “My … my knock?”

Only now did he realize what a stupid thing he had said. However, he wasn’t an insecure schoolboy anymore, he could ride it out. “Yes”, he said with a death-pan face, trusting in his ability to scare her into submission. “Well?”

“I … just wanted to …”, again she interrupted herself and Severus supressed a sigh, “well, actually, I _did_ come here a few days ago.”

She spoke with a slight accent that he could not place.

“We’ve already established that”, he observed icily.

“Um, yes … you see”, she finally seemed to be getting somewhere, “a few days ago I came here to ask you not to sign the petition. And now I’ve come here to thank you that you didn’t.”

She looked up at him innocently as if she was expecting him to know what she was talking about.

“What petition?” he asked harshly, silently wondering why he even cared.

“To have my aunt deported by social services”, she explained matter-of-factly, but with a tick under her left eye.

“Your aunt?”

“Well, she’s really my great-aunt. My grandmother’s sister.”

“I have no interest in your family tree”, Snape said, unable to contain his irritation.

“Of course not”, she hurtled on, “I just wanted to say … well, social services didn’t take her. Because you didn’t sign.” Now she hazarded a smile, but it looked sad. “You see, they need the consent of the entire immediate neighbourhood before they can do anything.” An angry crease appeared suddenly on her forehead, while she turned her head sharply and stared down the dark narrow street. “Makes you wonder why anyone would care in this dump. Don’t they have enough of their own problems?” She shook and composed herself, but with shaking hands. “What I mean is … you were the only one who didn’t sign.” She looked up and bravely into his eyes, and said as heartfelt a “Thank you” as she could muster. Her accent had become stronger during her speech. Without doubt, she was nervous. Still, he didn’t get a scared vibe at all. Was he losing his touch?

“Why would I sign such a thing?” he asked irritably.

“Well, many of the neighbours were really pissed … I mean … annoyed. Because of the racket a few nights ago?”

A vague memory stirred. Screams, clattering, ‘Get off me, bitch’ and the bewildered boys. Then the troubled look of the young woman – she was in her twenties, at most – the red-rimmed eyes and the nervous wringing of her hands. In his mind, he set the story together even before he could ask her about it, which was a stupid thing to do, but which he found himself doing nevertheless. “Is your aunt mad?”

He was bad at talking to people, always had been. Only when the words were out did he realize they weren’t the right ones, that they might be construed as insulting. He generally didn’t care about these things very much, but right now he did a bit. However, she didn’t seem to have noticed his scalding tone, maybe because she was too distraught.

“She has Alzheimer’s”, she explained quietly, “it’s been getting worse lately. That night, she didn’t even recognize me, took me for an intruder …” She stopped, obviously swallowing tears, then pulled herself together. “She is in hospital now. They had her on tranquilizers, now they’re just keeping her for observation.”

She stared at a point somewhere halfway between them. Her face looked conspicuously empty, exhausted, and he was reminded of his mother, which made him shudder. Suddenly, she shook herself and attempted another brave smile which came out quite brilliantly. For a brief second, he saw Lily again.

He knew such illusions well. They had happened over the years. A laughing first-year with thick red hair. A teenage girl turning around and smiling at nothing. Sometimes even a young woman walking across the street with an earnest look of self-importance. Usually these illusions lasted only a fraction of a second, but they never failed to slap him in the face. However, he had never seen it on the same person twice. This was the reason he now stared at her, trying to find out what it was in the set of her face that in some fleeting moments made her look like Lily Evans. Was it a feature, an expression, or was it the person behind the visage? He couldn’t tell.

“Hopefully, she will come back home soon”, the girl informed him, “thanks to you.”

He didn’t know what to say. Maybe this was the right moment to break off the conversation. However, he still hadn’t figured out why she reminded him of Lily. So in order to give himself a few more moments of observation, he lunged on to the obvious, into the field in which he was most at ease, that of knowledge. “Alzheimer’s”, he repeated, “it is a degenerative disease of the mind, isn’t it?”

He had read about it. Although his interest in the Muggle world in general was almost non-existent, he took a certain pleasure in reading up on medical conditions that continued to puzzle the doctors with their apparatuses and all-penetrating rays, and to which a non-too-complex potion could have provided a simple remedy. He hardly ever questioned this urge within himself to find evidence that the magical world was clearly superior, but it always gave him some satisfaction when he succeeded.

“That’s right”, the girl replied. “Like I said, its progress is very fast. When I came to live with her a year ago she was fine. And now …” She raised her shoulders and let them drop in a dejected manner.

“Irreversible”, he said coldly.

She stared at him. Muggles always took exception when one stated the obvious. However, the blatant hurt in her face made him twitch with something that felt similar to … well, certainly not regret, but it wasn’t far off.

“That’s what I’m told”, she whispered.

Silence ensued and a few seconds went by before she straightened her shoulders and took a step back. “I must not keep you”, she said, now extremely polite to the point of stiffness. “I am sure you have more important things to do than chatting.”

The string of conversation which had so unexpectedly come together between them – the tired, worn-out wizard and the nervous Muggle girl – was cut short and Severus felt that it was his fault. He had finally convinced her that he was not only sour-faced, but also sour-minded, and she retreated. He steeled himself against the disappointment that was beginning to stir inside his guts. What would he be disappointed about, anyway? She was nothing to him but an irksome fly circling his head and it was about time he shot it down from the wall. If only this particular fly hadn’t reminded him so much of …

“Again, thank you”, she said, taking another step back.

For a brief moment, he entertained the idea of disabusing her of this foolish notion that he hadn’t signed that ridiculous petition to do her a favour and that he did actually care. However, he decided against it. Instead, he gave a curt nod and pressed forth a “You’re welcome” between his teeth. “Good luck for your aunt”, he added, not knowing why, and immediately he feared it had come out wrong again – did you wish anyone with an irreparable condition good luck? – but another smile appeared on her lips.

The lips. That was it. Or maybe. They weren’t far off Lily’s lips, anyway, full, curved and of a pale rose colour.

“That’s kind of you”, she said in no more than a whisper, then suddenly turned on her heels and walked across the cobbled road at a brisk pace.

Severus retreated into the house, closed the door and while the silent gloom of boredom greeted him like a sarcastic old friend he stood quite still, listening to his breathing. He then stepped to the small window just beside the front door and carefully shifted the yellowish curtain an inch. He watched the girl’s figure walking a bit on the other side of the narrow road and then entering another gloomy looking grey-brick house, an identical twin of his own home, but with flower boxes at the windows and cheerful bright curtains, a rare sight, almost conspicuous. In the distance, he heard the clicking of the lock when she slammed the door shut behind her, or maybe he only imagined it. After the house had swallowed her up, Severus continued to stand there, staring at it as if it might at any moment spit her out again, but it didn’t. Instead, he saw a small black-and-white cat stalking around in front of it, peering towards the house as if it didn’t quite want to believe that she was gone, either.

Abruptly, he turned around and made himself stare into the dusty corridor. Maybe he should make an effort and clean the place? But what for? Nobody ever came here. Plus, he hated the place. Every square inch of it conjured up memories of his childhood, of his mother crying and his father ranting. It was a recalcitrant house that refused to be anything but unhappy and even a hearty spring clean wouldn’t do anything to change that.

He sighed and walked into the sitting room. It smelt stale and with a sudden burst of energy he tore the windows open and let in a breeze smelling subtly of sun-burnt grass and the nearby river, murky and with a hint of the toxic chemicals that had polluted it for decades.

After a few moments of deliberation, Severus Snape squared his shoulders and walked over to the bookshelf. His eyes wandered over the backs of the weighty tomes lined up there and it took a while until he had found what he was looking for. Selkirk’s _Diseases of the Mind and How to Cure Them_.

Two hours later, he was still immersed in the book. He didn’t notice dusk settling over the neighbourhood, nor the raucous laughter of adolescents roaming the streets like horny cats or the clamour of drunkards. The only thing he heard was the rustling of paper when he turned a page and the scratching of his quill on a piece of parchment when he noted down keywords, terms and ingredients …

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	3. The Blue Vial

**The Blue Vial**

 

The rain stopped the exact same moment when Elena had dragged her bike into the shed behind the house and stepped out onto the street again. _Verdammt_! If only she had waited twenty minutes, she wouldn’t have become wet down to her underwear. Even after living in England for nearly a year, she didn’t yet understand British downpours and that, torrential though they might be, they usually didn’t last as long as in the place she came from. It was one of the details, along with small talk and social niceties, that still puzzled her and made her an eternal foreigner. ‘No use being miffed about it now’, she told herself. ‘Take a shower, change your clothes.’

She rummaged for the keys in her handbag and let herself into the house. Oppressive silence greeted her, as it had every day during this past week. Without Anna’s cheerful presence, the place was revealed for what it was: a bloody dump.

‘Get used to it’, Elena reminded herself, ‘it won’t be getting any better.’

The pain of this realization tore at her and she shook herself. No use dwelling on it. She had to start accepting it. If Anna ever came back home, it would never be the same again. And she, Elena, had to come up with a plan sooner or later. Though ‘sooner’ wasn’t very likely.

She began tearing off her wet clothes even while she climbed the stairs. It was a relief to get rid of the shoes since her feet were hurting. No wonder, after two solid hours of teaching a bunch of school kids without coordination the finer points of ballroom dancing.

The shower was hot und refreshing. When she stepped out of it, she felt halfway human again, quickly rubbed herself dry, wound a towel turban around her hair and went to her small box room to find a clean pair of jeans and a loose-fitting striped shirt. She liked her little refuge although it was as gloomy as all the other rooms in the house. She had made the best she could of it. Added new curtains, colourful cushions, posters of Jim Pepper, The Velvet Underground and Patti Smith, not to mention the numerous candles and lanterns that she would light as soon as dusk came on. All this distracted her from the cracks in the walls and the occasional water spot on the ceiling.

While she struggled to pull a comb through her wet and tangled hair, her eyes fell on the small desk in the corner of the room and the letter sitting there. Elena frowned. The letter from the philological faculty of her university had arrived a few days ago and she knew its content by heart.

_Dear Ms. Horwath,_

_We are sorry having to inform you that due to your non-attendance in the past semester and the lack of assignments turned in by you, we are going to have to exmatriculate you from your chosen course of studies, should you not, within the period specified under item V.2, submit the required …_

 

Of course, she had forgotten to get in touch with them again.

No.

She hadn’t forgotten. She just hadn’t been able to rake up the energy. With Anna in hospital and her own future insecure, it had been so easy to push this nuisance from her mind, even though Birmingham University had really been the reason why she had come to England, apart from desperately needing to get away. Nowadays it seemed to her that she had really come to play nurse. Or dancing teacher. Somehow things hadn’t turned out at all as she had intended. However, that was the story of her life.

She decided to push the letter from her mind and walked down to the kitchen instead. After all, she was starving. While she was standing in front of the rattling fridge and tried to make up her mind between pasta and a chicken salad, there was a pointed knock on the door.

Elena frowned and wondered why whoever was out there did not use the doorbell. It was strange, but then people in this neighbourhood _were_ strange. Not only strange, but worn-out, frustrated and ready to jump on any waggon that would enable them to get back at a nasty world. Should she open? Maybe not. But what if it was the social worker with the information on home care he had promised?

Still barefoot, Elena went into the hallway and opened the front door.

No social worker.

It was _that man_.

The man who hadn’t signed the petition. The man to whose front door – as Leia, the neighbour girl, had informed her – no one dared walk up to because he was known for his nasty temper and it was rumoured that he kept virgins chained to the walls of his cellar. No doubt he’d be exactly the type. He looked forbidding in his black clothes, wrapped up in a long wallowing kind of overcoat. Not exactly a beauty, either. A large hooked nose dominated the pale face and his hair was in desperate need of a wash. He looked down at her with a scowl, fixing her with his cold dark eyes. In fact, they were black, the irises only a slight touch lighter than the pupils. Elena had to keep herself from staring. She had never seen anyone with completely black eyes before.

“Good day to you, Ms … Crawford?” he said with a glance towards the doorbell. His voice was low, silky even, his accent posh, but to Elena’s keen ear it seemed a tiny bit laboured, as if acquired by years of practice.

“Elena Horwath”, she corrected him quickly. “Mrs Crawford is my aunt.”

“Ah, yes”, he replied disinterestedly and it was almost a hiss. “Was I interrupting?” He looked pointedly at her bare feet.

“Not at all”, she said quickly, feeling a blush spreading over her face. She took a step back. “Would you like to come in?”

Probably little Leia would have warned her that this was a bad idea. Who’d let a man like this into their house? However, Elena was intrigued. What could he possibly want from her? She hadn’t exactly had the impression that he had enjoyed their conversation the last time she had raked up the courage to knock at his door.

For a brief moment he hesitated. Then, taking a quick look about himself, he gingerly stepped over the threshold. He brought with him a funny smell, musky and a touch sulphuric, not unpleasant, but peculiar. And something else came into the house with him, swishing by his legs. It was the small black-and-white cat Elena had befriended over the last few days. It looked up at Elena with bright yellow eyes, blinking, greeting her like an old buddy, and ran into the house.

Instead of minding the cat, Elena looked up at the man in black and gestured towards the sitting room, but he ever so slightly shook his head. Obviously he hadn’t come to stay and now stood in the hallway like a statue, completely still.

“What can I do for you, Mr …”

He ignored the unspoken question. “How is your aunt?” he asked in no more than a whisper.

Elena looked at him in surprise. She hadn’t thought he would care. In fact, she had convinced herself that his not signing the petition to have Anna deported by social services hadn’t been kindness at all, but mere lack of interest. She noticed the grey scarf that was tightly wound around his neck. Although it had been raining on and off all day, it was June and quite warm by English standards. Was he cold? It would have explained the long sleeves and the strange cloak. She kept herself from wondering and concentrated on his question.

“She is still in hospital”, she informed him. “Took another turn for the worse. I don’t know when she’ll be able to come home.”

Unconsciously, she hung her head. Whenever it came back to her – her dearest auntie screaming at her, calling her ‘bitch’ and taking her for an intruder – she felt a large weight pressing her down. Her eyes got stuck at his black boots. The leather was of a kind she had never seen before, a little like crocodile skin, but black with a greenish tint. She looked up and met his gaze. His black eyes were examining her face as if he was looking for something there. For a split second, the aspect of infinite boredom changed into scrutiny.

“You visit her?” he asked quietly.

“Of course. Every day. Not that it would make any difference, she doesn’t even remember who I …”

“I see”, he interrupted her harshly. He didn’t like to be chatted at, that much was obvious. Instead, he stuck one white hand into the pockets of his large overcoat. When it came out again, he held something in his long thin fingers. Something small and blue and made of glass. A vial.

He thrust it into Elena’s hand. “Give it to her”, he said and it sounded more like a command than a suggestion. “Three drops a day, every day for one week. _By no means_ dilute it. It will coagulate and loose its effect. Do you understand?”

He looked hard at her as if she was a schoolgirl and he the strict demanding teacher. He had it down to a t. But certainly, a man like that would never become a teacher?

“What … is this?” Elena stuttered in bewilderment as she stared at the little glass flask with its bluish gleam. He might keep virgins chained in his cellar, but would he want to poison her aunt?

“Medicine”, he snarled with a haughty scowl as if he had heard her thoughts. “What did you think?”

“I … I don’t know …”

“Of course you don’t”, he said, completely unsurprised. “But I do. And I’m telling you to give your aunt three drops a day, every day for …”

“… one week”, Elena chimed in. “I heard you.”

“Yes, and don’t …”

“… dilute it”, she completed and frowned. “I’m not stupid, you know.”

“If you say so”, he replied with an indifferent shrug.

“Still”, Elena objected and she had to force herself to do so, his manner was so authoritative that it seemed easier to just comply and say nothing, “don’t I have a right to know what’s in this … thing?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “I’d rather not say”, he explained, “you might find it …” His voice trailed off.

“Disgusting?”

He tilted his head. “Maybe. – Anyway, there’s none of your … chemicals in it. All the ingredients are natural. If it won’t help her, it won’t harm her, either.”

Again, Elena couldn’t help staring at him. What a strange man! The clothes, the demeanour, the sharp contrast of white skin and black hair, eyes and get-up, like he was from another world, why, another planet.

“Are you into alternative medicine or what?” she asked.

Now it was his turn to stare at her. For a moment, he looked affronted. Then the corners of his mouth relaxed and resignation settled in. “If you will”, he sighed.

“Voodoo, too?” she asked, suddenly in the mood for a tease.

“Don’t be daft”, he snapped. “Just … give it to her. You’ll see.”

“Well”, Elena looked down at the blue vial in the palm of her hand. “Thank you, Mr …”

“I must not keep you”, he said quickly and receded towards the front door.

Before Elena knew it, he had turned the knob and was already out on the front step. He gave her a curt nod and turned on his heel.

“Wait!” Elena cried after him, not exactly knowing why.

He stopped in his tracks and turned around slowly. “Yes?”

“Um … those … those boots of yours. What are they made of?”

He looked back and forth between her and his boots, clearly irritated. “Dragon hide.” The answer came like a shot, but in the next moment his expression changed as if he had just caught himself doing something untoward.

Elena let out a giggle. So he _did_ have a sense of humour after all. “Very funny”, she said good-naturedly.

“Whatever”, he replied, gave another abrupt nod and proceeded towards the street. Elena watched him until he had reached his house and let himself in. He didn’t look back even once, but walked purposefully, albeit with a slight twitch in his gait, his strange black overcoat flapping about his thin frame. He looked a bit like an overgrown bat.

“What a weirdo”, Elena said to herself, shaking her head.

She went back into the house, finally had that chicken salad an then sat down in front of the word processor, composing a letter to the philological faculty while the little black-and-white cat installed herself on her lap, purring and quickly falling asleep. The blue vial Elena had stuck into the back pocket of her jeans. Every once in a while she took it out and examined it. And every time she did that, _that man_ appeared in front of her mind’s eye. What a funny cookie!

She wondered if she would see him again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	4. Überraschung

**Überraschung** _**[1]** _

 

The beard wouldn’t do. Though it was dense now and he was starting to look a bit like Rasputin, he still looked far too much like Severus Snape to hope for even a small degree of anonymity. Scrutinizing himself in the bathroom mirror, he was beginning to suspect that there was nothing to be done about it. He simply had what people politely called a characteristic visage.

Of course, it was the nose, his forever distinguishing mark, the worst joke his father had ever played on him. He now wished he had paid more attention in school to self-transfiguring spells which he had rejected – strangely – out of vanity (vanity, that is, in not wanting to admit to his hang-ups). Now that he was past caring, he could see how a little more interest in that regard could have come in useful.

He had considered Polyjuice Potion, but it took weeks to brew, usually wore off quickly and more importantly, he didn’t have all the necessary ingredients in his cellar storage. If he wanted to venture out into the open any time soon, he had to think of something else. Either that or wait for the hubbub to die down.

However, it didn’t look like it ever would. Every morning when he opened the _Daily Prophet_ , it was there, plastered all over the front pages. Harry Potter. The victory. The legend of the elder wand. The amazing foresight of Albus Dumbledore. News on the Death Eater hunt. And bloody Harry Potter again.

The British magical community seemed set on making the celebration last for the rest of the year at least, knowing full well that an opportunity like this presented itself only once in five lifetimes. The party was still going on. However, Severus Snape had as little intention of participating as ever.

Just the other day, he had found a so-called ‘portrait piece’ about himself occupying two whole pages of the _Prophet_. It had contained a particularly unfavourable picture of him and a bunch of lies. Well, speculations rather. All the same, the few lines he read of it had made him so angry that he had tossed the paper into the fire and for a moment seriously considered performing a mean de-feathering spell on the owl that brought it. However, it had looked at him with big eyes, hooting reproachfully as if to say ‘Don’t kill the messenger, man!’ In recent years, he had started to learn not to let out his temper on innocents. Not excessively so, at least.

Something else that he had learnt from the papers this morning had left him dejected, though. The death of Nymphadora Lupin, née Tonks. For some reason, it had so far escaped his notice. So Remus Lupin was a widower, alone with a months-old baby in his care. Although Snape had never had any time for the Marauders – and had positively detested both James Potter and Sirius Black – he wouldn’t have wished this on Lupin. Also, it made him think of his own loss which dated back so many years, but still ached like a wound that had never healed properly. After reading about Tonks – whom he had always liked, as far as he ‘liked’ anyone, and she had certainly done her best to be civil to him – he had wandered over to his desk and opened the secret compartment with the complex un-locking spell he had invented. In it lay a fragmented photograph, showing a red-haired witch smiling sweetly and waving. He could never look at her too long before his throat constricted and his eyes began to swim, so he had slammed the compartment shut after only a few seconds, finding himself in his quiet study, alone, with an itching neck and bored, so bloody bored.

The arrival of a black owl that afternoon was almost a happy distraction although he knew at first sight that it bore anything but good news. Sure enough, when he opened the parchment, dark-red letters obviously written in blood jumped at him.

_Watch your step, traitor. If I ever catch you, I’ll skin you alive and turn your hide into dog leashes._

Not a cheerful prospect. Not exactly the way he wished to die, either. It made him scratch his scraggly beard and then check on the house’s locking and alerting spells for the umpteenth time.

When that was done, he let himself fall onto the couch in his sitting room. He stared at the ceiling, watching flies and spiders. He was just thinking about taking aim with his wand, when a determined knock on the door tore him from his reverie.

The knock was completely unfamiliar and Severus felt his heart speeding up. That was nothing but excitement, anticipation. Weeks of boredom had made him too eager. He’d have to watch it or it would be his undoing.

He tried to ignore the knock, but it came back, once, twice, and then a third time. Every time its volume increased until it turned into a pounding. That was the point when he could no longer restrain himself, jumped up from the couch and hurried to the door, gazing through the small window beside it.

Ah, yes. _Her_.

The Muggle girl whose name he couldn’t remember stood outside, impatiently shifting her weight from one foot to the other. He had completely forgotten about her. After a split second’s deliberation, he opened the door. Anything to fight the boredom.

She stood there and gazed at him with flaming eyes.

“How the _fuck_ is that possible?!” she roared, and to his utmost surprise she strode past him, through the door, into his hallway. He was far too taken aback to do anything about it. That a Muggle girl would have the nerve! However, the idea of being scared of him didn’t even seem to occur to her. She occupied the dusty hallway as if she had every right to do so, feet slightly apart, shoulders squared. She wore a simple calf-length summer dress and although she wasn’t very tall, her high-heeled shoes allowed her to meet his eyes almost at level. With her, the black-and-white cat had come in, but Snape was too irritated to pay any attention to it.

“Language”, he said smoothly, first and foremost because he didn’t know what else to say.

“Alright, Daddy”, she replied impertinently, then raised an index finger which she pointed at him. “ _You_ owe me an explanation!”

“I owe you nothing”, he objected and bestowed one of his darkest scowls on her. “I don’t even have to let you in. You’re taking liberties.”

She waved his words away with her hand. “Cut out your English small-talk crap”, she commanded. “You know _exactly_ why I’m here.”

_Small-talk crap?_

“I _never_ small-talk”, he informed her, his voice thick with exasperation. His eyes fell on the cat that was standing on the threshold to the sitting room, mewing as if to say ‘Are you coming or what?’ “Why did you have to drag that flea-ridden creature in here?”

Another impatient wave of her hand. “Don’t evade me”, she demanded heatedly. It was a long time since anyone had spoken to him like this. “Explain to me! – This morning I arrived at the hospital and … my aunt was _fine_! She sat there in her bed, calling me ‘Ellie’ and asking when she could go home. Completely _compos mentis_! Have you got anything to say about that??”

Severus’ mood changed suddenly from irritation to self-satisfied pride. He liked to be admired for his abilities. Not exactly by a Muggle, but lacking alternatives … “You’ve obviously followed my instructions”, he observed. “Three drops a day, every day for a …”

“You like to hear yourself talking, don’t you?” she of all people snapped. “Yes, I followed your f…flaming instructions, God knows why …”

“Good”, he interrupted her with a crooked smile. “So you _do_ have some sense.”

“It’s not possible!” She almost shouted. “We’re talking _Alzheimer’s_ here! Researchers around the world have been putting years of work into it with hardly any result at all! It is incurable, it is …”

“Irreversible”, he sneered. “Well, there’s a lesson. Maybe you shouldn’t believe what your so-called _researchers_ say.”

She stared at him in utter disbelieve and muttered something under her breath he had trouble catching. Was it ‘smug bastard’? – However, only a second later her expression changed from angry excitement to fear. “Will it keep?” she whispered. He saw her fingers trembling.

“If you keep on giving the po … the medicine to her”, he replied with a shrug, “you might go from three to two drops after a while, or even less, but maybe not just yet.”

She inhaled sharply, holding his gaze almost obsessively. “You weren’t just going to say _potion_ , were you?”

“Of course not”, he lied through his teeth.

“How d’you do it?” she asked with a look of awe on her face.

“Alternative medicine”, he replied sarcastically. “Like you said.”

She narrowed her eyes, sensing bullshit, but didn’t say anything.

“Any problems?” he asked, his confidence returned. “With your aunt, I mean. Any side effects?”

“She says she’s dizzy a lot”, the girl answered with a shrug. “But hey, considering how she was …”

But Severus Snape was a perfectionist. “Dizzy spells”, he repeated thoughtfully. “Must be the scarabaeus juice …”

“The _what_?”

But he had already turned on his heel, starting towards the staircase that led down to the cellar. “Stay here”, he ordered her, “right _here_.”

And before she could object he was gone, leaving a confused Muggle girl standing in the gloomy dusty hallway of his house.

 

* * *

 

Left behind, Elena looked about herself. Now this was quite a new definition of the word ‘dump’. Not exactly a surprise, Spinner’s End was everything but a posh address and the person who had planned and built the grey-brick houses must have been out of their mind. She knew from her own experience how difficult it was to make these dreary abodes half-way comfortable. Here, however, nobody seemed to even care. The dust lay thick on sills and skirtings, the wooden floorboards needed a good scrubbing and the hallway smelt of decades of resident mildew. Add to that an odour that came up from the cellar; sulphuric, not unlike the smell he had brought into her home the other day, but now it was definitely on the rotten side. At least, she couldn’t hear any virgins screaming.

What a strange man this house’s inhabitant was. The clothes he wore! Black, as usual, but this time it was what looked suspiciously like a priest’s frock. Long sleeves, of course, in spite of the warm weather, and again that grey scarf tightly wound around his neck, and the black unkempt beard on top of that.

There was no nice way so say it: he was a regular weirdo. However, she had always been rather drawn to unconventional types. No wonder, because if truth be told she was a little weird herself. Not that anyone would notice from the outside, but she had always felt alienated from the world she’d grown up in, which had been one of the reasons for her to come to England and leave behind a family that always admonished her to ‘fit in’ better, to adapt, to be ‘normal’. And she had tried. Now, at the age of twenty-four, however, she was fed up with attempting to be like everybody else. She was happy with the role of the loner and she sensed a bit of the renegade in the black-cloaked man who had left her standing in this hallway. It would have been an exaggeration to say that she liked him. After all, she didn’t know him. However, there was something about him … something that had made her think of him during the last few days, more than she wanted to admit.

And, of course, he had helped her aunt. It was nothing short of a miracle. She remembered Anna’s attending physician and the look of consternation on his face. “I’ve treated many Alzheimer patients”, he had explained to Elena, “and they do have their moments of clarity every now and then. Still, I have never seen anything like this.” Naturally, Elena hadn’t told the doctor about the blue vial. It would have led to questions, reprimands even. Also, intuition told her that the manufacturer of the blue medicine wanted her to keep mum.

The black-and-white cat’s mewing pulled her out of her thoughts. It was still stalking around the door to what was probably the sitting room, trying to get her attention.

“We are to stay here”, she explained to the cat, grinning. “But who are we to let a weirdo tell us what to do, huh?”

And so she followed the cat’s call and stepped into the sitting room. More dust. Threadbare armrests and curtains, a testimony to years of wear and neglect. But also row after row of books. Elena was an avid reader herself and seeing all those tomes neatly lined up and cared for much better than the rest of the house, she warmed to her unwilling host a bit, remembering John Waters’ quote, _If you go home with somebody and they don’t have any books, don’t fuck them_. It made her giggle.

She wandered towards the shelves, the floorboards creaking under the soles of her shoes. She examined some of the titles. _Philosophy of Arithmancy_ , five volumes of it. _The Herbological Encyclopedia. Llewellyn’s Guide to Transfiguration._ What??

Elena furrowed her brow and wanted to investigate further when something else distracted her attention. On the low table beside the couch lay a funny object. It was really a long ebony-coloured stick, very smooth and polished. At first glance, she had taken it for a very long pen, but when she got closer to it she realized that it was in fact only a stick. But what was it for?

She turned around and strained her ears for _his_ steps to come cluttering up the stairs, but she heard nothing. So cautiously, to the point of gingerly, she picked up the stick. Turned it back and forth in her hands, examined it. What did anybody need such a polished stick for? It almost looked like a … But no, that was ridiculous …

 

* * *

 

It didn’t take Severus long to find what he was looking for. Mandrake solution, always a pick-me-up when one felt dizzy. Highly diluted, too, so it wouldn’t do any harm to an elderly Muggle woman. He put it in the pocket of his robes and since he was down here anyway, he quickly checked on his potions, adding a trace of this here and a sprinkle of that there.

The healing potion was giving him trouble again. It smelt like rotten eggs, certainly not the way it should. He frowned, but only a little. Inside he was still brimming with pride at his success with the girl’s aunt’s condition. He hadn’t been entirely sure that it would work, although it had always been his contention that there was hardly any medical problem in the Muggle world that wizardry didn’t have an answer to. A satisfied smile curled his lips and as he swiftly climbed up the stairs, there was a spring in his step and he even allowed himself to whistle.

The whistle died down instantly, however, when he reached the hallway. She wasn’t there. Annoying girl! Hadn’t he told her to stay put?

He checked the kitchen because it was nearest, then the sitting room. Yes, there she was, standing by the small coffee table.

“Didn’t I tell you …” he began, but the words stuck in his throat.

She was holding something in her hand. He recognized it right away. It was his wand. His wand which he had foolishly thrown onto the coffee table when he had jumped up to answer the door. A blaze of fury shot down his spine.

“Leave that be!” he roared, but it was too late. She had already flicked it, as if by some instinct she knew precisely what to do with it.

He braced himself to what might happen next. In the wrong hands, wands could do all kinds of damage. However, she was a Muggle, he reminded himself. Nothing at all would happen, so why …

Even before he could finish the thought, something shot out of the wand’s tip. A soft glitter at first, quickly bursting into a cloud of coloured stars. They hovered in the air for a few moments, twinkling, jumping about cheerfully before vanishing into nothingness.

Snape’s mind went blank. He just stared, at the girl by the coffee table and at his wand in her hand. She stared, too, at the spot where the stars had just evaporated. He could see by the expression on her face that she didn’t understand at all. With a look of utter amazement, she turned around to him and let out a girlish giggle. “Did you buy this in some joke shop?” The words were hardly out when she raised the wand again with the obvious intention of waving it once more.

Snape lunged forward and with a swift movement, he snatched it out of her hand.

“Never. Do. That. Again!” he hissed, his black eyes stabbing her.

The girl looked at him with a mixture of shock and curiosity. “Okay, okay”, she breathed in a placatory manner, “so you like joke-shop toys. No need to be embarrassed about that.”

“I’m not embarrassed”, snarled Snape, “and this is no toy!”

He pocketed his wand and then proceeded to scrutinize her. She looked back at him innocently, even a little amused. She clearly didn’t believe that the wand was not a toy, but was probably entertaining some thoughts about the child in every man, as if she had found a model railway in his sitting room. However, he was not at all concerned about what she might think. Something entirely different occupied his mind. Could it be – was it even possible? – that he had, for the second time in his life, found a witch?

“Why are you looking at me like this?” she demanded.

“Like what?”

“As if you were going to slap me any moment.”

“Maybe not a bad idea.”

“Because I touched your toy stick??”

“I told you, it is not a toy!”

“What is it then?”

He considered her. Could he broach the subject, name the hippogriff in the room? Maybe it was a bad idea. There was a reason for the _Statute of Secrecy_ , after all, as much at Snape might personally detest it. Maybe her reaction would be shock or even worse. After all, she was not a child anymore and might not be able to integrate anything that lay outside of her adopted world view. Against his nature, he decided to take the subtle approach and cleared his throat.

“Did anything strange ever happen to you in your life?” His voice was quiet again, smooth and silky as ever.

“What d’you mean?” Her eyes became very wide.

“I mean … anything strange in the way of … let’s call it … ‘supernatural’?” That was the term Muggles liked to use and he was pleased with himself for having remembered it.

Her facial expression changed completely. It became guarded, sly even. “Supernatural?” she repeated.

“Well, so-called ‘supernatural’”, he amended.

She let out a shred of laughter that sounded like a hiccup and started to wring her hands as she had done the day he had first met her. She was nervous, so much was clear. “You mean, like … _paranormal phenomena_?”

He nodded.

Again she fiddled with her hands. “Do you know anything about that?” she inquired in a small voice and shot him a suspicious look.

“I may”, he replied. “Well?”

Almost half a minute passed before she began to speak. “Well, since you’re asking … sometimes strange things _do_ happen.”

“Such as?”

“Sometimes”, she said haltingly, “when I’m looking for something … because I’m a real slob, you see … a book, for instance. I look for it, I concentrate on it – and sometimes, when I turn around, it’s suddenly there. Sitting on a desk or piece of furniture just behind me. Although I could _swear_ that it wasn’t there a few seconds before. – Do you mean things like that?”

He suppressed a satisfied smile. “That is exactly what I mean.”

His words seemed to have an encouraging effect on her because the guarded look slowly vanished from her face. “And also … I sometimes know when people are going to die. When I was a kid, I predicted my uncle Franz’s death. Everybody thought I was crazy because he was as fit as a fiddle at the time. Two weeks later he died in a car crash. – It really scared my parents.” She lowered her head. “And me, too.”

A prescient. Snape had to make an effort not to appear impressed. Seeing into the future was a rare gift and it usually came along with much more.

“Oh, and cats, of course”, she added eagerly, looking at the black-and-white beast that had curled up on Snape’s couch. “It’s not just that I’m a cat person. They come to me, you see? They find me, follow me around, like this one. And I can … communicate with them, on some level. I know it sounds crazy, but they understand me and I understand them.” She broke off abruptly and looked at him. “You must think I’m a complete nutcase!”

Severus said nothing for a few moments, but tilted his head to one side. He didn’t know if he should really say what was on his mind, but then decided to do it anyway. “I used to know a man”, he explained quietly, “who did the same with snakes. They found him. They did what he wanted them to do. And he spoke their language.”

Elena stared at him hard. “Snakes, huh?” She shook herself. “Well, I’m glad it’s cats with me then …”

“Have you ever thought about why that is?” he asked her. “Why you can do these things?”

“My family says I’m a freak”, she replied with a sinister expression on her face.

“Yes”, he said matter-of-factly, “people like us get that a lot.”

“People like _us_?”

Again, he scrutinized her, trying to find out how much truth she could take. “Haven’t you guessed? What you are?”

Utter blankness stared back at him. “Pray tell.”

He inhaled and spoke the words he had spoken to another supposed Muggle girl, decades ago. “You’re a witch.”

“ _What_?” She was clearly taken aback now, but something told him that she wouldn’t freak.

“They do exist. Witches and wizards. Always have, always will.”

“Witches and …”, she stopped herself, peered at him suspiciously. “How do you know this?”

“Well, because I’m a wizard, of course”, he said haughtily. “And this”, now the polished stick came out of his pocket again, “this is my wand.”

Her mouth fell open. “Your wand”, she repeated.

“Not a joke-shop toy”, he snarled with a hint of disgust in his voice.

For another few seconds she said nothing, just stared at him trying to figure out if _he_ was the nutcase. Then her expression brightened. “Prove it!”

His lip curled. “Why should I have to prove anything to you?”

“Please”, she pleaded, “indulge me.”

He sighed, flicked his wand lazily and instantly, the couch, the coffee table and the two shabby armchairs rose about ten inches above the floor, hovering there for a while before he gently set them down again. Elena watched in disbelief. When it was over, she rubbed her eyes.

“Could you do it again?”

“That should be quite enough”, he denied her wish.

“Oh, please!”

“No!” He strode towards one of the armchairs and sat down in it, looking up at her thoughtfully. She had started to wring her hands again, flipped her hair, looked about herself nervously and obviously didn’t know what to say.

“I wonder …”, Snape murmured.

“What?”

“Well, you obviously thought you were a Muggle …”

“A _what_?”

“That’s how we call non-magical people”, explained Snape. The whole situation was like a déjà-vu and he couldn’t make up his mind whether it was pleasant or not. “Since you are quite obviously not a Muggle, I wonder why you never got called to any wizarding school …”

“There are _wizarding schools_?” Again, her eyes grew wide with amazement.

“Yes.”

“Did you go to one?”

“Yes. I went to Hogwarts. It’s the best wizarding school in the world.”

“Hogwarts”, she repeated as if it was an enchanted word. “Where is it?”

“In Scotland.” He leaned forward. “Normally, British witch children are called there when they are about eleven. Even if their parents are Muggles. There’s a system in place to find them. That’s the reason I wonder why you were obviously never invited …”

“Oh, but I’m not British”, she explained quickly. “I’m from Austria. Viennese, born and bred.”

There was the explanation. Not only for the accent, but also for her cluelessness as to her identity. Severus had heard that other wizarding schools didn’t have as good a system as Hogwarts had. Durmstrang, particularly, relied on word-of-mouth when it came to the recruitment of students. They weren’t at all keen on admitting Muggle-borns who, in most cases, had no way of knowing that such a school even existed. How many witches and wizards were there all over Europe, he wondered, who didn’t have the faintest idea about what they were?

“You really think I’m a witch?” Elena interrupted his thoughts with a whisper. Her eyes glittered. There was hope in them. Snape realized that she very much wanted what he said to be true, but that she wasn’t quite convinced yet. He also realized that he was starting to enjoy the whole thing.

“Well, let’s see”, he said, getting up swiftly from his seat. He handed her his wand. She hesitated and then took it in her hand, extremely careful all of a sudden. “Do your thing”, he prompted her. “Concentrate on any object in this room and make it come to you.”

“Come to me?” she repeated shyly.

“You’ve done it before, haven’t you? At least that’s what you told me.”

“Yes, but …”

“It might work better when you say the word _Accio_. It’s Latin and it means …”

“I know what it means”, she replied stiffly, “five bloody years of Latin in school …”

“Well, then.”

She closed her eyes. A crease appeared above her nose and he could see that she was concentrating hard.

“Try to visualize the object in your mind as good as you can”, he counselled her. “Only say the word when you’re sure you know what you want.”

For almost a minute, nothing happened. She just stood there, his wand in hand, the crease between her brows deepening. Finally, very quietly, she said it. “ _Accio_.”

There was a rustle from one of the shelves. A moment later, a book glided out from between its neighbouring tomes and flew through the air, almost hitting her head. Snape caught it and he could feel it struggle in his hand because it really wanted to go to the unwitting witch in front of him. It was _Llewellyn’s Guide to Transfiguration_. Elena stared at it in utter fascination.

“That is … wonderful!” she exclaimed and in the next moment she let out a peal of laughter. “This is amazing!”

He couldn’t help partaking in her joy and felt the corners of his mouth go up. “You clearly _are_ a witch”, he informed her coolly.

“I’m a fucking witch!” she crowed and turned on her heel, swiftly rotating exactly three times around her axis. It was quite impressive, actually, and looked a lot like ballet. However, she didn’t seem to be aware of it. Suddenly she stopped and her eyes searched his.

“What do I do next?” she asked.

Good question. He considered it carefully. “I’d say you need a wand of your own.”

“A wand of my own? – Where do I get it?”

“I know a place”, he replied noncommittally.

“You’ll show me?”

Her question had the effect of a bucket of cold water. Without realizing it, he had gotten himself into something. He had taken responsibility. A little irritated, he scratched his beard.

“Alright”, he finally said. “I’ll help you get a wand.”

“When?” Her eyes were eager.

“Tomorrow?” he suggested. “I’ll call at your house around 4 pm. Would that suit you?”

A ferocious nod answered him. Again he asked himself whether he really wanted this. What would it entail? Would he be able to get rid of her again? Then he noticed the feeling of excitement in his guts, a feeling he hadn’t had for a very long time. “Good”, he said. “Tomorrow then. – But now, if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.” He had no idea what things, but he felt a desperate need to be alone, to think, to ponder.

There was a hint of disappointment in her face, but she complied. She depended on him now, which meant that he was the one calling the shots and that pleased him immensely.

“I never caught your name”, she said in a small voice.

He swallowed the snappy answer that first came to his mind – ‘Because I never mentioned it’ – and looked at her hesitantly. What the heck, she didn’t know a thing about his world and his name meant nothing to her.

“It’s Snape”, he said. “Severus Snape.”

She smiled at him and for a split second the ‘Lily effect’ was back. His heart missed a beat.

“Well then, Mr Snape”, she said with a polite nod, then suddenly let out one of her giggles. “Fellow wizard.” She seemed very amused and he frowned but said nothing, leading her out into the hallway instead. The black-and-white cat immediately jumped from the sofa and ran after Elena.

 

When he was alone again, he returned to his armchair and stared dreamily into nothingness. What a surprise this afternoon had turned out to be. He had found a witch. He seemed to have a knack for it. He deliberated what needed to be done now, what he wanted to do and he realized that he actually wanted to do quite a lot.

‘Better than this boredom’, he reasoned with himself. ‘It’s not healthy. Something’s got to happen. Something to keep me busy.’

He didn’t know it yet, but he had just taken on the job of educating Elena.

 

 

[1] German for ‚surprise’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	5. Diagon Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Elena gets a wand of her own ...

**Diagon Alley**

 

“Faster!” Elena cried over the roar of the engine and the whistling of the wind. “Go faster!”

“Alright, alright”, Micah shouted back over his shoulder. “Cut this baby some slack, she’s not a Harley.”

“I need to be home by four!”

“That’s about the tenth time you said that.”

“Then GO!!”

The engine of the old Yamaha howled and the machine shot over the half-empty road towards the nearby town where chimneys rose into the air, perfecting the skyline of an industrial city. Clouds hung over Cokeworth and there would definitely be rain within the next half hour.

Elena’s arms were wrapped around Micah’s slim waist. The blonde hair in the nape of his neck tickled her cheek, but she didn’t care. The only thought on her mind was to please, please, please make it home in time. By no means did she want to be late for getting her first wand and intuition told her that Mr Snape was not a man who liked to wait.

When the motorbike finally turned into the gloomy and narrow canal that was Spinner’s End, however, Elena spotted him from afar, black-cloaked as always, standing in front of the house she lived in. The roar of the Yamaha made him turn around and Elena waved. He didn’t react to her salute, but remained where he was, arms akimbo and with his usual scowl.

“Is _that_ your uncle?” Micah asked in a low voice after he had stopped the machine and Elena climbed off.

“Yeah, that’s him”, she declared airily. “He’s going to take me to buy new dancing shoes.”

“Really?” Micah peered suspiciously towards the house and the sinister figure waiting there. “Strange guy.”

“Runs in the family.”

“Strange place, too”, Micah remarked, taking in the sorry neighbourhood, the grey facades, the occasional smashed windows. “Why doesn’t your aunt move? If I were an old lady, I’d be afraid to get mugged on a daily basis.”

“The house belongs to her, and it reminds her of uncle Alec”, Elena explained quickly and blew two quick kisses on either side of Micah’s cheek. “Thanks for taking me.”

“No prob. You’re sure you’ll be alright, luv?” He seemed worried, not letting Snape out of his sight.

Elena looked amused. She knew that Micah liked her, even more than only liked her. To be honest, she liked him, as well, had even entertained the idea of intensifying their friendship and seeing where it would go. It was a long time since she had had a boyfriend and apart from missing the pleasures coming along with a man by her side, she found Micah attractive, his trim, stringy and well-trained body (apart from being a fantastic dancer, he was into climbing and bouldering) and the chiselled features of his face that hosted a pair of startling blue eyes. However, the past few days – and especially the last twenty-four hours – she’d had different things on her mind, things she couldn’t possibly begin to explain to Micah. Already, she sensed that her life was going to take a slightly different turn from her on out.

“I’m quite alright, don’t worry”, she reassured him. “See you tomorrow at the school then, OK?”

Micah nodded slowly, his eyes still on the alleged ‘uncle’. He continued to watch when Elena started to walk towards the house, and she turned around once more to wave at her friend and dancing partner, which was also a signal that he should, finally, take off. He did, but he took his sweet time about it.

Elena approached the front door of her aunt’s house where Snape stood immovably and stony-faced.

“You’re late”, he remarked instead of a Hello.

“Good day to you, too”, Elena replied ironically but she couldn’t help smiling at him as she was brimming with anticipation. “It can’t be later than five past four!”

“Late, like I said.”

She decided against apologizing since she had done her best to arrive on time. Also, an instinct told her that she shouldn’t be too submissive towards this man, that he would take advantage if she allowed him to cow her. She shrugged girlishly and topped off the gesture with a brilliant smile. “I’m here now.” Only now did she have a chance to completely take him in and what she saw made her want to burst out with laughter. “What with the hat?”

In fact, he had donned a black hat with a very broad brim that covered half of his face. It looked nothing short of ridiculous. No wonder he had aroused Micah’s suspicion.

“What about it?” the wizard hissed.

Elena realized that he was touchy about his appearance. “It looks very … eccentric”, she said and hoped it sounded diplomatic. Snape didn’t seem to think so, however, and his scowl deepened.

“Who was that?” he shot back and jerked his head towards the spot from which Micah had just taken off.

“A friend”, Elena replied noncommittally. “If he hadn’t brought me here, I would have arrived even later.”

“And I wouldn’t have waited that long”, Snape said acidly.

“Good thing he did then”, Elena tried to reconcile him with another smile. “I’ve been looking forward to our date.”

He ignored her friendly attempt. “I sincerely hope you didn’t tell him.”

Elena laughed. “How stupid do you think I am?”

“I’m not quite sure yet”, was the dead-pan answer. “You shouldn’t take this lightly, you know. There is something called the Statute of Secrecy. We must not divulge what we are to Muggles. Most of them can’t take it.”

“Most of them wouldn’t believe it”, Elena countered. “If I told my friends ‘Hey people, guess what, turns out I’m a witch!’, they’d call the loony bin!”

He seemed to relax a little and pushed himself off the doorjamb against which he had been leaning. “So can we finally go?”

“Sure! – Where exactly _are_ we going?”

“London.”

Elena looked at him apprehensively. “ _London_? – But that’s going to take forever! I’ve got to work tomorrow. You have a Porsche or what?”

He shot her an irritated look. Obviously, he wasn’t sure what a Porsche was. He really was quite out-worldly. Elena wondered if all witches and wizards were like that.

“You’ll be home in a few hours’ time, I assure you”, Severus Snape said coolly.

“Now I’m intrigued …”

“Come with me.”

He led the way and to Elena’s surprise, he steered her into a side road that was even grimier and narrower than the one from whence they came. Her stomach began to feel a little queasy. Suddenly she asked herself why she trusted this man. After all, she didn’t know anything about him apart from the fact that he seemed to be able to cure Alzheimer’s and make furniture hover above ground. What if it had all been some kind of elaborate trick?

After they had reached the middle of the shadowy cul-de-sac, he swiftly turned around to her and held out his hand. “If you please.” Had it not been for the boredom in his voice, the gesture could have been construed as gallant.

Elena took his hand gingerly. Cold fingers closed very tightly around hers, almost to the point where it started to hurt.

“Brace yourself”, he commanded and only a split second later, a kick went through her body, her stomach lurched and the narrow street dissolved in front of her eyes, became a whirl of colours and she felt as if she was lifted off the ground.

When she touched down again, she almost fell. Her head spun, an overwhelming dizziness caught her hard and she felt her insides turning out. Just in time, she twisted her body aside, retched and puked heartily on the new set of cobblestones that had appeared beneath her feet. Looking up, eyes swimming and stomach churning, she saw Snape bearing an ill-disguised look of amusement on his face while he looked down on the steaming puddle of rice and greens, and not exactly with pity.

“Maybe I should have mentioned that”, he observed. “To Apparate for the first time can have that effect.”

“Maybe you should have”, Elena pressed forth behind clenched teeth, feeling an urge to slap him. However, she was distracted by the surroundings.

They were standing in a cul-de-sac which diverged from a busy street that must belong to London. Her anger was washed away by amazement. So he hadn’t lied to her, nor played any dirty tricks. He _was_ a wizard. Her heart missed a beat. Up to this moment, she had secretly harboured doubts, but now she was sure that this was going to be one of the most important days in her life.

Not paying any attention to the possibility that she might still feel sick, Snape made an impatient gesture, urging her towards the street. The bustle of bodies pressing up and down the well-frequented shopping road was in line with typical urban scenes. The idea of getting a wand here seemed strange and Elena’s anticipation came back, making her forget the queasy feeling in her stomach.

The black-cloaked wizard didn’t seem to feel too comfortable, though. His hands were deeply buried in the pockets of this cloak, his shoulders hunched and he avoided eye-contact with the passers-by who, on their behalf, noticed his strange appearance very much and gave him dirty looks. Following closely, Elena watched her peculiar companion.

‘This is not his world’, she thought. ‘He lives in a parallel universe.’ A parallel universe that she was so eager to see that she felt her heart pounding against her ribcage.

Snape led the way across the street towards a pub. _The Leaky Cauldron_ prominent letters spelt on the oval sign hanging out front. Without looking back and obviously glad to reach the entrance, he opened the door and went ahead first, Elena hurtling after him.

At first sight, the pub looked like any other London pub, gloomy, smelling of beer and cider, peanut shells and crisp flakes crunched on the floor. Snape glided through the dark so quickly and smoothly that Elena had trouble following and almost no time to have a look at the punters. However, she couldn’t help noticing that things _were_ a little off here. Some of the guests wore strange clothing, long, flowing, in very merry colours. In one corner, a diminutive man in a dress coat with tails almost reaching the floor happily slurped his drink, opposite to a woman with a deeply-lined face and such fantastic warts that Elena had to keep herself from staring. She almost lost sight of Snape’s black back in front of her and she walked faster in order to keep up. Behind the bar, a man with rolled-up sleeves and a big moustache had his eyes on them attentively. Or rather, he had his eyes on Snape and it was almost with a look of disbelief.

A low whisper reached Elena’s ear, coming from a couple of elderly men at the bar, dressed in green and violet. “Oi, look, you don’t think that was … It couldn’t be, now, could it?”

“Naw, not with the beard …”

“Still, for a moment I could have sworn …”

Elena’s companion had already reached the other side of the guestroom, drawing open a heavy door that led to a cobbled courtyard. A reeking dustbin stood there and mice scurried away when they entered the rectangle enclosed by solid brick walls. Elena watched Snape swiftly whipping out his wand. He hadn’t turned around for her one single time while they had walked through the pub. Now he stepped towards the walls, his black eyes searching for something. Then Elena watched on intently while he touched the tip of his wand to one of the bricks.

In the next moment, right before her amazed eyes, the wall parted as the Red Sea had for Moses and opened up the view onto another busy street hidden behind it. However, this street bore no resemblance at all to the shopping road they had just left. Elena’s eyes became huge. So this _was_ a parallel universe!

“After you”, Snape said quietly, either suddenly remembering manners (not likely, Elena thought) or wanting to impress her. “Welcome to Diagon Alley.”

 

* * *

 

Severus hadn’t expected it, but entering the magical world again after all these weeks felt quite good, like he was a fish returning to familiar waters. Although he was careful to keep his head down, drew the brim of his ‘eccentric hat’ (he still resented her for that) deeply into his face and watched his surroundings suspiciously from under it, he noticed that he breathed more easily. It was good to be back, to have magical people and magical business bustling around him. Here he was just one cloaked man among many. And, as he quickly realized after a while, the best camouflage he could have chosen was the young girl by his side. Certainly nobody of his magical peers expected Severus Snape to turn up with a woman, and of the two of them she was the one who attracted the occasional curious glance due to her Muggle jeans and sneakers and, most of all, her wide-eyed look of fascination with which she took in Diagon Alley. She had been completely silent ever since they had stepped through the brick wall. Her lips were slightly parted and she turned her head back and fro, not knowing which shop or stall to admire first. Though he hated to admit it, it was actually quite endearing.

Every few yards, she stopped and stared at the shop windows, particularly the broom vendors caught her attention.

“You’re not telling me that you folks actually ride on those things?” she whispered to him excitedly. It was the first thing she had said in quite a while.

“They’re certainly not on sale for sweeping”, he replied curtly, but there was a tiny hint of amusement in his voice.

“So you are able to ride a broom?” She simply had to ask.

“Of course”, he answered with stiff dignity, “ever since I was eleven.”

“Wow”, she breathed, and it was the first of many times he would hear her say it this afternoon; either that or she would give off one of her delighted peals of laughter or clasp her hand in front of her mouth to suppress an even louder reaction. Virtually everything in Diagon Alley was fit to enthuse her. She wanted to walk into every bookshop, every outfitter’s store and she was fascinated by the protective amulets sold at small stalls (“Are those _really_ doing anything?”). She was Alice in Wonderland.

“I don’t believe this!” she exclaimed at one point, not caring anymore if anyone heard her. “You even have your own _newspapers_??” She was pointing towards a stand boasting pristine copies of the _Daily Prophet_ , _Transfiguration Today_ and _Witch Weekly_.

Snape frowned, touched her lightly by the elbow and steered her away. It was way too early for her to learn about the news that moved the magical world these days, and it wouldn’t do at all if she were to find something on _him_. “Here is where we are going”, he informed her and pointed towards Ollivanders which had appeared on the right side of the alley, “that’s where you can get your wand.”

The newsstand became uninteresting as soon as she saw the inscription above the wandmaker’s shop. “… since 382 B.C.”, she breathed. “They are kidding, right?”

Instead of rewarding this naive question with an answer, Snape rummaged in this cloak pockets and brought out a small leather purse which he handed to Elena. “You will need this”, he said, “your Muggle money’s no good here.”

She looked at him slightly embarrassed. “I’ll pay you back”, she promised which he ignored, instead urging her to go towards the shop.

“What, you’re not coming?” she asked uncertainly and Snape shook his head.

“No. You’re in good hands with Ollivander. Just tell him what you need and he’ll find the right wand for you.”

“But _why_ aren’t you coming?” she insisted.

‘Because old Ollivander knows me and he’s a blabbermouth’, was the first answer coming to Severus’ mind, but he didn’t say it. “I have some errands to run. I’ll meet you again outside in half an hour.”

She gave him an apprehensive look. Suddenly she had turned into a shy little girl who was too afraid to go places without the reassuring presence of her mother. However, scrutinizing him carefully she seemed to cotton on to the fact that he had no intention of babysitting her, bravely squared her shoulders and nodded. “Well, see you then, fellow wizard.”

“Don’t say that”, he snarled. “We’re still a long way from that.”

And with those words out, he left her and quickly dove into Knockturn Alley …

 

* * *

 

The shop was dark and lit only by a couple of flickering torches. A pungent smell wafted through the low-ceilinged, vault-like rooms and on the shelves sat jars with liquids that held heads, limbs and shrivelled creatures. In spite of the stink, Severus Snape breathed with relief. This was about the only place in the neighbourhood of Diagon Alley where he could be himself and he quickly took down the hat.

A weak bell had chimed out when he entered by the squeaking door and it wasn’t long until a hunched figure emerged from the rooms at the back of the shop. The man in the monk-like brown robes was as shrivelled as one of the creatures in the jars, the fingers corneous and trembling. From under the hood, a pair of very bright blue eyes stared at Snape.

“Severus? Is that you?”

“Have you finally gone blind, Callistus?” Snape asked sarcastically and leaned against the counter.

“Blimey, it really _is_ you!” the old man exclaimed. “I thought you were dead!”

“Don’t you read the _Prophet_? I would have thought that my survival was a well-established fact by now.”

Callistus Applethorne, the owner of one of the oldest and most-renowned shops for dark-arts artefacts examined the face of the man in front of him as if he still couldn’t quite believe it. To Severus’ surprise, there was a mirthful gleam in his eyes. He actually seemed to be happy to see Snape. But then, they went way back.

“Ah, you know, there are all kinds of rumours”, Callistus Applethorne explained in a husky voice that betrayed his almost biblical age. “There’s some that say that your survival is nothing more than a hoax to scare off the Death Eaters still at large. Here in Knockturn Alley nobody can really swallow the story about you surviving Nagini … She _did_ bite you, didn’t she?”

Normally, Severus wouldn’t have indulged anyone’s curiosity. However, Callistus Applethorne had helped him more than once in the past years, as an informer and also as a provider of truly dark magic, either in the form of books and potions that had been invaluable to Severus during his work as a spy, or by way of simple advice. It was no exaggeration to say that without Callistus, his schemes in betraying the Dark Lord wouldn’t have come off quite as successfully. “She did”, he now confirmed with a sigh, “but as you can see, it was a botched job.”

Callistus chuckled. “You’ve got some sense of humour, boy …” No one except Callistus got away with calling him ‘boy’. “Is it true you were dead, then? Like the Potter tyke said?”

“Looks like”, Snape responded curtly.

Callistus considered this for a few seconds and although there was hardly anything in the wizarding world that his age-old eyes hadn’t seen, he seemed nothing short of amazed. “And?” he demanded roughly. “Did you see anything?”

“What d’you mean?”

“Why – _on_ _the_ _other side_ , of course.”

“Nothing I can remember”, Snape lied. He had no wish to go into details about something that still continued to puzzle him.

The old man’s shoulders fell in a gesture of disappointment. “Pity, that. You see, when you get to my age such things start to interest you. What’s awaiting and all that.”

Snape gazed around the shop in a pointedly bored manner to signify to Callistus that he did not want to talk about the subject of death. “Business going well?” he asked by way of distraction.

“You might as well ask”, Callistus spat and waved his hand depreciatingly. “Nobody’s coming here anymore. I’ve become _disreputable_ , as they say. Think what you want about You-Know-Who, but his followers were my best customers. Now they’re all in hiding. Things are not going well for the shopkeepers here on Knockturn.”

Snape made a noise which might have been construed as sympathetic. “What does the grapevine say?” he asked in a low voice. “Are they scattered and bummed out? Or does it look like there’s some form of underground organization going on?”

Applethorne rubbed his badly shaven chin. “It’s still early days”, he ventured. “Right now those goody-two-shoes from the Ministry calling themselves Aurors are all about, questioning people, making arrests, sweeping up the remnants. If you ask me, they’re almost as bad as the other guys used to be …”

“Now, now, don’t exaggerate”, Severus murmured and supressed a smile.

“No, mark my words! They’re making the dark arts into a taboo again. We’ve talked about this several times, you and I, haven’t we? It’s the most effective way of ensuring that one day some bloody idiot will come up again, thinking he’s the next Lord Voldemort. If you make something illegal, it will always fester beneath the covers, you know that as well as I do.”

Snape said nothing. Although he basically shared Applethorne’s views, he had no wish to enter a corresponding discussion. To divert the old man, he took out a piece of parchment from the pockets of his cloak and gave it him.

“Any idea who might write threating messages in blood?” he asked.

Callistus examined the parchment carefully. When he looked up at Snape, there was apprehension in his eyes. “This is serious, boy!”

“Nothing that wasn’t to be expected”, said Snape with a shrug. “Did you really think the Death Eaters would shake my hand in gratitude for betraying them all those years?”

“Granted”, Applethorne grunted sarcastically. “And probably fair enough if ending up as a dog leash is what gets your juices going …”

“Never mind my juices”, Snape said acidly. “I’d rather you kept your eyes open. I _do_ expect repercussions, always did. However, with something as concrete as this I should like to know where it is coming from. – Needless to say, I’ll pay you the usual.”

Applethorne made an impatient gesture which meant ‘of course’ and handed back the parchment. “Are you sure you’re well protected? You’re hiding anywhere special?”

“Nowhere special. Any idiot could find out where I am. But I’m pretty sure no one can get to me without my knowing. – Speaking of which, there are a few things that I need …”

Severus Snape hated to admit it to himself, but he wasn’t quite as confident as he led old Applethorne to believe. Back at Spinner’s End, it was now his daily routine to improve on the jinxes and incantations protecting his house, with Foe Glasses in almost every room and inscriptions on all the thresholds to keep out dark forces. In his more honest moments, he had to concede that he was becoming a little obsessive, but – as he liked to remind himself – that had a lot to do with boredom. In any case, he was convinced that he was capable of doing at least as good a job at protecting himself as the Ministry and its Aurors would have done. If doubts ever came up, he quickly pushed them out of his mind.

Callistus Applethorne carefully studied the shopping list the younger man had brought with him. Some of the items on it made him frown, but he obligingly shuffled towards his storage and came back some time later with all sorts of powders, vials and small apparatuses which he then proceeded to demonstrate. Snape listened attentively, tried out, chose, rejected and finally, with a sigh, paid quite a hefty sum.

“How’s your dear mother?” Applethorne asked while he packed up the stuff. He never forgot to ask, a bit to Severus’ chagrin, and he never forgot to add in the ‘dear’.

“Same old”, he replied.

“Still in Ireland? – Good thing she got out from under that brute that was your father. Why she married him in the first place I’ll never understand.”

‘Me neither’, thought Snape but refrained from saying so to keep Applethorne from elaborating on the subject.

“She must be proud of you, huh?” the old man went on with a smile.

“I have no idea”, Snape replied curtly.

“Remind me, boy – what was it your father died of?”

“Pneumonia”, Snape muttered, “the bloody sod didn’t go to see a doctor in time.”

“Fancy that, dying of pneumonia in this day and age …”, Callistus Applethorne shook his head. “Guess your mother could’ve helped him. But then he didn’t like her doing magic, did he?”

“No. As you know, stupidity goes a long way.”

He had to cut this conversation short, they were venturing into dangerous territory. So Severus grabbed the stuff which was waiting for him on the counter in packages and made to the door. It was about time, anyway, the Muggle girl must have purchased her wand by now. So he said his goodbye to Applethorne, donned the hat again and after inhaling sharply and bracing himself, he left the shop.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	6. The Independence of Witches

**The Independence of Witches**

 

However, when he came back to Ollivanders, she wasn’t there. Carefully and the brim of his hat drawn deeply into his face, Severus peered through the shop windows, but all he could make out was Garrick Ollivander himself – face deeply lined and with dark shadows under his eyes – busying himself at his counter, wrapping up wands. Snape stepped back out on the street, turning here and there. He was becoming nervous and for a moment he forgot that he was in disguise and raised his head in search. Instantly, he met the eyes of a witch about his age who stared at him, face blank first, but increasingly incredulous.

‘Two years down, Hufflepuff, Quidditch team, Sinclair, Doris – or was it Edith?’ The keywords stored in his eager mind a long time ago came up and he turned away, started to walk. Right then he saw the Muggle girl come out of a pet shop, face radiant. She held a large black cat in her arms that had its eyes half-closed in complete relaxation and on which she looked down tenderly.

He reached her. “Where were you?”

“You were late”, she said with raised eyebrows, but still smiling. “I had a look around.”

He had, in fact, dawdled a little at Applethorne’s. “I can see that”, Snape hissed and scowled at the cat.

“He wasn’t expensive!” she said defensively. “Anyway, I _had_ to have him. He told me he’s a wizard jinxed to this form decades ago. But he rather likes it this way now and says he can teach me a few things. He saw right away that I was new in the field.”

There were a few things on the tip of his tongue that he would have wanted to spit into her face, but Sinclair, Doris – or Edith – was still staring holes into his back. So he let it out on her elbow which he grabbed roughly, pulling her away with him.

“Ouch!” she protested, giving him dirty side looks. “I told you, I’m going to pay you back!”

He didn’t respond, but dragged her along until he was sure to have brought enough people between them and the Sinclair woman so that he was able to relax. Paracelsus Street was close now anyway and he swiftly steered Elena there while she continued to consider him speculatively. This must have made him nervous because the moment they hit Paracelsus, they ran slap-bang into an elderly wizard with a groomed black beard wearing a pointed hat. The man looked at Snape, quietly lifted his headgear and said earnestly “Good afternoon, Professor Snape” before he went on.

Drat.

“Does everyone know you round here?” asked Elena.

“No”, he replied in his most preferred monosyllable.

“’Cause Mr Ollivander knows you, too. He told me.”

“You told Ollivander you were with _me_??” he exploded, rounding on her. Infernal woman!

“Shouldn’t I have?” she asked innocently.

“You could have guessed that I had my reasons for sending you in there on your own!” Admittedly, though, he should have given her more precise instructions.

However, she had a reply even to that. “I just thought you were not exactly the babysitting type.”

He rolled his eyes. “Come in here”, he commanded and pushed her towards _The Philosopher’s Stone_ , as was the aspiring name of his favourite bookshop. Two of the things he liked most about it was that they had discrete staff and a tea room in the cellar which was usually empty at this time of day. The elderly witch that brought them tea and a plate of biscuits – which Elena proceeded to devour, reminding him that her stomach was “puked empty from your whirling routine” – was almost blind and paid them no mind.

By the time they had settled in their chairs, Severus’ enthusiasm to berate Elena on her lack of reliability had almost evaporated. He observed her curiously while she munched her biscuits, cat on her lap and with a shopping bag beside her. No resemblance to Lily at this very moment. She looked more like a shiny-faced schoolgirl and once again he wondered what he had gotten himself into. After all, he had never really wanted to be a teacher. He had taken the job because he had been commanded to do so and had got stuck with it. However, he couldn’t help noticing how content she was. From someone who had been a Muggle for more than twenty years, he would have expected more nervousness, more shock, more stupid questions. But she was quite at ease. What was more, she seemed in no way intimidated by him. He had noticed this earlier. It was as if his manners which usually made people recoil – thus granting him his much sought-after solitude – left no impression on her at all. She was either too caught up in the events of the last few days or a happy-go-lucky little fool.

“So I got a wand”, she said in a conversational tone after she had obviously had enough biscuits for the moment, “and it appears it has dragon heartstring in it. You wizards are romantics, aren’t you?”

“You must keep it on you at all times”, he told her sternly.

“Yessir”, she replied, smiling sweetly. “Mr Ollivander told me that: ‘A witch without her wand is nothing’, he said. – Such a nice man, by the way. Very sad, though. He might even be traumatized by the look of him. – Have you got any idea why that is?”

Of course he did, but giving her the reason would have meant to go into the events of the recent years and he feared that this might provoke a range of questions from her. So he just shrugged, an expression on his face as if he couldn’t care less. Elena credited this non-verbal answer with a curious look, but dropped the topic. She leant back in her chair and stretched sensuously. “Tell me a little more then.”

“About what?”

“About your world, of course.” She moved forward, resting her elbows on the table top. “How d’you all roll? Honestly, my first impression is that you’re a pretty old-fashioned bunch. The clothes and such. Are you nostalgic people, mourning the past? Is there such a thing as wizarding politics? What’s the state of your economy? What moves you these days? Where do you stand on environmental protection? Women’s rights? Gay rights?”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You may safely assume that the problems of your Muggle world are of little interest in this sphere.”

“Tough world for homosexuals then, huh?”

“Why are you asking?”

“’Cause I want to know”, she replied earnestly. “I’m a liberal, see. It’s important for me to know what social climate to expect.”

She spoke a different language, he realized, and not only because she was a foreigner. “I expect you will find out”, he remarked silkily.

Elena tilted her head and considered him, arms akimbo. “You don’t like to talk much, do you?”

“Thanks for noticing”, he answered curtly.

“Well, maybe I should ask easier questions”, she mused as if thinking that he was some kind of simpleton. “For instance, why did that man outside on the street just now call you ‘Professor’ Snape?”

“Because that’s what I am”, he murmured in a bored voice. “Or used to be …”

“Really?” She looked impressed now. “Where?”

“I used to teach at Hogwarts.”

“That wizarding school you told me about? – What exactly did you teach?”

“Potions, most of the time.”

“That’s alchemy, isn’t it?”

“If you prefer the term.”

She gave a sheepish smile. “I used to be really bad at chemistry.”

What that had to do with potions was beyond him, but he let it pass, hoping that her questions regarding his person were answered.

“I’m a teacher, too, you know”, she informed him nonchalantly.

“A teacher of what?” he asked curiously.

She laughed. “I teach at a dancing school.”

He snorted.

“Yes, I know what you’re thinking”, she said good-naturedly. “But actually it’s quite hard. We teach a lot of school classes, to prepare them for their graduation ball. Try teaching a horde of vandals the cha-cha for a day and you’re ready for an institution.”

“I can only image”, he murmured, thinking of his own ‘hordes of vandals’.

“It’s just a job, though, to earn some money”, she informed him, obviously in the mood for babbling. “I’m really enrolled at Birmingham University, I want to do my thesis there.”

A gleam of interest appeared on his face. So she was an academic. Maybe not such a fool after all. “What field?”

“Literary studies.”

Ah. Useless. He should have known.

“It’s not going very well”, she continued with a shrug. “What with my aunt’s disease and all. It seems that ever since I came to England, all I have been is a nurse and a dancer. Like I was meant to do something entirely different in the first place. Only now do I see what that might be.”

She meant magic, of course. He wouldn’t contradict her in that. In fact, it was his conviction that everyone displaying magical talents should drop all other pursuits to further them, particularly if those were Muggle pursuits. He leant back in his own chair, watching her silently. It was obvious that a string of ideas passed back and forth in her mind and she had no problem sharing her stream of consciousness, apparently oblivious to her opposite’s sceptical scowl.

“I’ve been thinking”, she continued. “Especially since yesterday. After what you told me – about me being a witch – it suddenly all makes sense. I used to feel like an outsider, different from anyone else, not belonging somehow. There were all these strange things happening to me since I was a kid and nobody I knew ever seemed to like them very much. I was always told to be ‘normal’, to fit in. So I learnt to … well, not make all these strange things happen too much. They did occasionally, but much less as I grew older …”

Snape digested this information. If he understood her correctly, she had – quite without help – learnt to control her magic. He had known seventh-years who hadn’t been able to do that. What she told him sounded promising indeed.

“Still”, she continued confidingly, “there was an emptiness. I have felt it all my life. It was like knowing that I could do something special, but not knowing how. And now …” She interrupted herself to give a little laugh. “What I’m saying is … I’m really grateful to you.” Now she looked him in the eyes. Her face was as open as a book, completely sincere. For some reason, he felt he had to look away which she misconstrued as modesty. “No, really”, she insisted. “You’ve given me a lifeline here.”

“Maybe you should curb your enthusiasm”, he suggested darkly. “You probably don’t realize how much you’ll have to learn. In this world, witches and wizards go to school for seven years and still some of them never manage the most basic skills.”

She smiled as if she didn’t worry about this at all. “You’ll help me, right?”

He met her gaze and it was challenging. “I _do_ have a life, you know.”

“Yet you brought me here”, she reminded him. “You were the one who told me I needed a wand. I guess you wouldn’t have done this if you didn’t have any plans with me?”

“It will be hard work”, he said in order to forestall a definite answer.

“I realize that and I’m not afraid of hard work.” Her eyes became dreamy. “You know, in my culture – _Muggle_ culture, as you’d say – the witch is a symbol of independence. Especially among feminists and I’m all for their cause. All I ever wanted in my life was to become entirely independent. Answer to no one. Having to please no one. But that’s difficult, especially as a woman and – I guess – as a Muggle. From where I’m standing, it looks to me that a witch can do _anything_ she pleases. – Do you see why it suddenly all makes sense?”

He did. Some of what she had said resonated with his own views, particularly the part about answering to no one. Of course, so far in his life he had always answered to someone, whether it had been Voldemort or Dumbledore. In fact, he was now for the first time at a point where he could do as he pleased and he wasn’t too happy about it. He understood her basic sentiment, but the thoughts and feelings it stirred within him were too complex to share.

“We have to get you books”, he informed her to change the subject.

She nodded fervently. “Great, I’m all for books.”

“Textbooks. No fun reading.”

“Don’t wizards read for fun?”

“I don’t”, he said grimly and stood up. “Stay here. I’ll be back.”

“Alright, Arnie”, she sighed and he shot her a dirty look because he sensed that she was making fun of him. However, she gave him another one of her friendly smiles, now with a touch of Lily in it, which was why he just irritably shook his head, said nothing and took off upstairs.

 

* * *

 

Elena watched his thin, black figure leaving the small cellar room. He had hardly touched his tea nor allowed himself any biscuits. His steps were very quiet, he had the demeanour of a ghost.

“I wonder what his story is”, Elena murmured to the black cat curled up in her lap. “He appears to be one of those self-denying guys, like he’s constantly castigating himself for some past failure.”

The cat yawned, then looked up at her with bright yellow eyes that made a charming contrast to the deeply black fur. “Quite a Saturnalian type, I should think”, the cat communicated to her. “Lots of stonewalls, any capacity for pleasure and passion buried deep down.”

“But once unleashed, it might become interesting”, Elena reasoned.

“You’re sure you even wanna go there, luv?” asked the cat. “After all, you seem to be quite a cheerful soul.”

“Only on the outside”, she replied with a mysterious smile and stroked the cat’s silky coat, extracting a discrete purr. “By the way, I will call you ‘Lux’.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. Because your eyes look like two bright lights on a pitch-dark night.”

Again the cat yawned. “I guess that’s as good a name as any.” And it went back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

When Severus Snape came back down to the little tea room with a pile of books in his arms, she had, once again, vanished. Only the used cup still sat on the table beside a plate scattered with biscuit crumbs. Severus swore under his breath. She seemed to be very invested in her concept of the ‘independent witch’.

“She’s gone upstairs”, the old witch giving out the tea informed him. “Browsing, she said.”

He sighed and slouched upstairs again. He found her in a corner between the narrow shelves in the shopping area, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her nose in a book, the black cat standing to attention at her side.

“Didn’t I tell you to wait for me downstairs?” he drawled exasperatedly.

“Yeah, but you didn’t say ‘please’”, she reminded him kindly.

“You spend my money on that monster and I’m to say ‘please’?” His patience was close to a breaking point.

“Muggle men know not to give their credit card to a woman”, she informed him with a smirk while she patted her cat reassuringly. “Good thing you don’t have one.”

The problem with her was that he didn’t understand half of what she was saying most of the time. So he just dropped the book pile on a small reading table and pointed to them. “Those are basic textbooks as Hogwarts students buy them at the beginning of their studies”, he explained drily. “I recommend you have a good look at them.”

She obliged by getting up from her spot on the floor and awarded the books a cursory glance. There was _The Standard Book of Spells_ , _Magical Theory, A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration_ and, of course, _Magical Drafts and Potions._ Elena touched the tomes, tenderly running the tips of her fingers over them. She clearly had a good relationship with the written word and Snape thanked God for small mercies. It would make things easier.

“I also need those”, she informed him and pointed to the books she had obviously found for herself. Snape craned his neck to see the titles. One of them bore the simple title _Magical Philosophy_ , the other was on _The Teachings of Hermes Trismegistos_ beside a fictionalized account on the life of Morgan le Fey.

“You’ll have enough on your hands with those”, he said, indicating his pile.

“But I study literature and I’m interested in philosophy”, she reminded him. “Don’t you think it’s reasonable to aim for a cross between what I already know and what your – well, _our_ – world has to offer?”

He couldn’t argue with that. After all, if there was anything he had respect for it was a striving for knowledge.

“Well, then”, he agreed hesitantly. “If that will be all. We should get out of here.”

“Already?”

“Like I said, I _do_ have a life.”

“Yeah. And do you enjoy it?”

The question made him scowl at her again. What business was it of hers if he enjoyed his life? However, a small part of him couldn’t ignore that she had touched a tender spot. Still he had no intention of rewarding her impertinent inquiry with an answer. “I’d enjoy being home soon”, he hissed, grabbed the books and swept towards the counter to pay them.

Elena strolled after him, cat in tow, obviously a bit disappointed about having to leave the bookshop. Snape felt her eyes on him while he counted out the correct amount and value of coins and gave them to the shop attendant. He fidgeted about impatiently while they were packed up. There was a nervous tremble in his fingers which he couldn’t even begin to explain.

 

When they were finally ready to leave and had turned towards the front door, the same sprung open, bells jingling, and a witch with dark hair and dark-red robes entered the shop. Snape stopped and stiffened, and Elena, who was following closely, almost ran into him. The witch had stopped in her tracks, as well.

“Severus!” she exclaimed.

Elena felt his chagrin, it was so palpable.

“Hello Septima”, the black-cloaked wizard whispered.

A strange thing happened and Elena watched in fascination. The witch who had just entered the shop went straight towards Snape as if in a daze. She reached out her hand and touched his upper arm, staring into his face. Snape recoiled as if burnt.

“I’m sorry, Severus”, the witch breathed. “I … I just had to convince myself that this is really you …”

“Who would I be?” snarled Snape. “A ghost?”

“For a minute I wasn’t sure …”, the witch replied, still confused. “How is … where have you _been_? Everybody is looking for you, asking for you! This is …”

The shop assistant behind the counter had become aware of the exchange and watched as attentively as Elena who sensed that something extraordinary was going on here.

“Calm yourself”, Snape commanded in his silky voice. “Can nobody understand that I need some time to myself?”

“Why … I guess”, stuttered the witch by the name of Septima. “After all you did ... which, by the way … Good Lord, I honestly don’t know what to say!”

Again, she looked as if she wanted to touch Snape and he quickly retreated a few steps. “I’d rather you said nothing”, he murmured.

“Won’t you be coming back to Hogwarts?” the red-clad witch asked breathlessly. “McGonagall wants you back, you know, any time and on your own terms …”

“I haven’t made up my mind yet”, he cut her short. “Please excuse me now. We have to leave.”

Only at the mention of the word ‘we’ did the witch notice Elena who had followed their conversation with rapt attention. She took her in curiously. “A friend of yours?” There was an ironic note in her voice.

Snape rolled his eyes. He couldn’t escape introductions now. “Miss Horwath, a neighbour”, he volunteered curtly, then turned to Elena. “Professor Vector of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

“Good day to you, ma’am”, Elena said cheerfully and the other woman nodded politely to her while her eyes remained on Snape whose discomfort was as thick as a cloud of exhaust.

“We have to leave”, he repeated doggedly and made an impetuous sign to Elena to follow him. Obviously a little cowed by him, Professor Septima Vector stepped aside and let them pass.

“Don’t hide yourself away, Severus”, she called after him. “You tend to do that, but there is no need. At Hogwarts, we are all immensely pr…”

“Yesss”, he interrupted her without turning back and breezed out of the shop. Again, Elena had to make an effort to keep up with him.

“What was that?” she demanded once they were back on Paracelsus Street.

“A colleague from Hogwarts”, he replied simply. “An ex-colleague.”

“I didn’t ask _who_ that was, but _what_ ”, she corrected.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, your behaviour!” She stared at him. “Okay, I get it, you’re not exactly the social type. But you’re acting as if you were a criminal on the run! Disguising yourself with that … hat, the way you walk around as if the devil was on your trail, and I’m not even to tell anyone that I’m with you! – What the hell is wrong with you?”

Snape was close to blowing a fuse. It was all too much and he wanted nothing more than allowing his temper a well-deserved rampage. However, after staring into her face for a while and considering how to best silence her inquisitiveness, he had an idea. He fixed Elena – ‘the Muggle girl’, as he still called her in his mind – with his eyes and squared his shoulders. “Here’s the deal”, he snarled. “And it’s _not_ negotiable. – I promise to teach you. As best as I can, depending, of course, on your enthusiasm and diligence. I shall invest time and thought into your education, which, by the way, I don’t _have_ to do. However, there’s one condition: you are not to ask me personal questions. Nor are you to ask me about my motives for acting in any given way. I have my reasons. And they are none of your business.”

Elena’s eyebrows shot up. For a moment, she looked as if she might protest. After a while, however, a sly look appeared on her face which he found difficult to place. “Fair enough, Professor”, she said with a hint of sarcasm. “I guess after all you have done for me today, I can’t ask for more.”

He relaxed. There seemed to be some sense hidden away in that Muggle brain of hers, after all. However, a doubtful voice was nagging at the back of his mind and her sly smile did nothing to silence it. Why did he have the impression that there was a double meaning to what she had just said?

Yet, she was now walking at his side in an almost docile manner. He remembered her theory on the independence of witches, though. An instinct told Severus Snape that he would have to deal with it sooner than he preferred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	7. Lessons with Severus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Elena's education as a witch picks up … however, she is also beginning to ask herself questions about her new teacher.

**Lessons with Severus**

 

After that day in Diagon Alley, the education of Elena as a witch took up its course. They met several times a week, mostly at his house. He taught her. She didn’t ask personal questions.

June turned into July and the weather became hot. The houses in Spinner’s End were even stuffier than usual. The cobblestones in the street burnt. And in spite of all this radiant sunlight, the neighbourhood managed to look even drearier, dirtier, more dilapidated as if its ugliness had finally been exposed to its full extent in the blaring sunlight. The nearby river stank, its brackish odours wafting through the streets. The air became stale. Anyone sticking their nose into books at such a time must be mad. They should have taken off, looking for a lake somewhere or a public swimming pool at least, but every time Elena tried to image Severus Snape in bathing trunks she had to keep herself from bursting out with laughter.

No, it was still long-sleeved black priest’s frocks for him – _robes_ , as she had learnt to call them – and considering the heat, he always looked astonishingly cool. Probably one of those types that never sweated. In any case, it was not the reason for his greasy hair.

Elena on the other hand regularly melted into his couch in this heat. She always brought a supply of plastic water bottles with her, a practice he observed with scepticism. Still her clothes clung to her after a mere half hour cooped up in his sitting room. It did nothing to affect her concentration, though.

She really wanted this. Spells and jinxes. In fact, she couldn’t remember having wanted anything this much for a long time. Her textbooks on magic had become her constant companions. She even took them with her to the dancing school, disguised with the covers of _Smilla’s Feeling for Snow_ and a book by Noam Chomsky on linguistic theory. The textbooks for her University course lay untouched on the desk in her little box room. There was now a big pile of stuff labelled ‘later’ in her mind.

It was the right time to do it, though. Anna, still very _compos mentis_ , had gone from hospital to visit her friend in Cornwall as she had always done at this time of year prior to her illness. Elena had the house to herself and no worried elderly woman asked her why she was constantly seeing this strange neighbour from across the street. But of course, she had asked her aunt about the Snape family.

“Very quiet people”, Anna had said, “she and the boy at least. The husband was a bit, well, Alec used to call him a ‘low-life bum’. Drank, I guess. But had a way with the ladies at the pub, though God knows he was no beauty!”

“What about Mrs Snape?” Elena had asked.

“A wisp of a thing. Quite arrogant, too, if truth be told. But I pitied her. She couldn’t stand up to this man and she was a bit … out-worldly? No wonder that little boy was strange.”

“Strange how?”

“Mostly on his own. The other kids didn’t like him. Wore horrible clothes, too … his mother had no sense for it, and probably she didn’t care, either. He was her exact copy, only smaller and a boy.” Anna drew her brows together. “I remember once, when I came home through the fields on the other side of the river, I saw him with a little girl. Sweet thing, with a mane of red hair. They were walking together, talking, completely engrossed. I remember how glad I was that he had finally found himself a friend.”

“Did you ever speak to him?”

Anna shook her head. “No. He went to some boarding school later. I only saw him in the summers. And I heard the rows he had with his father …” She rolled her eyes. “I once spoke to _her_ , though.” Now Anna smiled. “It was shortly after Alec died. She offered me … well, a séance. To make contact. Needed money, I suppose. I declined, but gave her something anyway. She was very embarrassed. I asked her how she was and she said something curious: ‘Very soon, I shall be fine.’ That’s what she said.”

“What do you think it meant?”

“I have no idea”, Elena’s aunt shrugged, but a strange smile appeared on her face, “the only thing I know is that her husband died shortly afterwards.”

Elena looked at Anna in shock. “You mean she _offed_ him?”

“No!” Anna gave a fervent headshake. “He died of pneumonia. Too mean to go to the doctor, Mr Allenby said. Tried to cure it with whiskey, is what I say.”

* * *

 

Elena couldn’t help remembering this information whenever she took in Snape sitting in the armchair opposite her, lecturing her on the principles behind certain spells in his low silky voice. It was actually a beautiful voice, as she had noticed one day, much to her surprise. It was a fact that one easily oversaw because everything else about him seemed so sinister and forbidding. He was always very focussed when he taught her, eyes on the textbooks or fixing an elusive point at the ceiling. Sometimes she had the impression that he even forgot her presence and was talking to himself. And although he always did his best to look sufficiently bored, Elena sensed that he was really in his element, that magic had never ceased to fascinate him and that he considered it important to pass on his knowledge in what he considered to be the best possible way.

From the very beginning, Elena had sensed that he was brilliant. A keen mind lived behind the pale, unmovable mask that was his face. This fascinated her – she’d always had a thing for intelligent men – and she wondered what it was that drove him. Also, she was determined to find out as much about him as she could. After all, he allowed no personal questions, but obviously he was not aware of the fact that to a woman such a ban was nothing short of a challenge. As a result, she felt authorized to use her imagination and other sources, even if she didn’t quite know yet how to go about it. Figuring out people was her favourite past time, so why should she stop at him?

In the meantime, however, she did the diligent-student routine. It seemed to work best when trying to gain his respect. And she very much wanted his respect. Not that he gave it willingly. Recognition or even praise didn’t seem to exist in his book, so Elena learnt to view the absence of admonition or reproach as success.

His strictness could be chilling, but she saw the effectiveness behind it. He had the gift of making himself heard, in fact, you thought twice before you let your mind stray because he detected it every time. His students at Hogwarts must have been in awe of him, close to the point of wetting themselves. However, Elena had had her fair share of strict teachers over the years and she was able to take it in her stride.

When his manners became too abrasive and started to wear her down, Elena remembered the day in Diagon Alley and her little talk with Garrick Ollivander. She had never told Snape about it, first and foremost because he had never asked. However, the details of that conversation were etched into her mind.

 

* * *

 

The first thing she had noticed about Ollivander when she had entered his wand shop were the dark rings under his eyes and the slight tremor in his hands. However, he had turned a kind face towards her, asking how he could help her.

“I’m here to buy a wand”, she had said stupidly. “I’m told you can help me with that?”

Ollivander had considered her carefully, his eyes gliding over her jeans and T-shirt and her face where the nervous tic had once again appeared under her left eye. He had smiled. “I’m sorry, dear, but might it be that you’ve got lost?”

“I beg your pardon?” She had fidgeted on the spot, playing with her fingers.

“You don’t look like you belong here”, Ollivander had informed her gently.

“Oh … I see … well, yeah …”, she had stuttered. “It may not look like I do, but … I assure you I’m a witch.”

“Oh yes?” Mild amusement had spread in his deeply lined face.

“Yes”, Elena had replied eagerly. “I can make things fly towards me, you see. I did it with a book yesterday. And that spell, the … _Accio_.”

At that, the wandmaker’s expression had changed slightly, he was looking at her with new eyes. “And yet …”

“I know exactly what you mean”, Elena had quickly interrupted him. “You see, I’ve only known since yesterday that I am a witch. There were signs before that, I guess, but I didn’t know how to read them. So I’m really just starting with … all this.”

“That is quite extraordinary”, Ollivander had said kindly, but it had been obvious that he was still not convinced.

“My … friend who brought me here told me that it was important to get a wand if I wanted to be a serious witch”, she had explained, “and he must know because he is … quite a wizard.”

Ollivander had raised his eyebrows. “A friend brought you here?”

“Yes, but he didn’t want to come in. I guess he’s a little shy.”

“What is your friend’s name?” Ollivander had asked. “You see, I know most people in our community. At some point, they all come here to get their first wands. And I never forget a name …”

“It’s Snape. Severus Snape. – Thin guy, black hair, pale skin and one hell of a …”

“Severus Snape?” Ollivander’s words, spoken with alarm, echoed shrilly from the walls. “You’re with _Severus Snape_?”

“Yeah”, she had replied simply, “he’s my neighbour. Do you know him?”

Ollivander had stared at her for several seconds. A mix of emotions had crossed his face. Apprehension? Fear? Admiration? Wonder? It had been difficult to tell. After a fashion, he had cleared his throat. “Of course I know Severus Snape. Everybody in the magical world knows his name by now.”

Elena’s eyes had widened at this. “Are you serious? He doesn’t exactly look like a celebrity …”

At that, Ollivander had given off a delighted chuckle.

“Well, if you know him”, Elena had gone on, “maybe you can tell me whether he’s alright? Whether I can trust him? – You see, I’ve only met him a week ago or so …”

Ollivander had considered this for a few seconds. Then, again, a very gentle smile had appeared on his lips. “Well, dear, to be perfectly honest with you … there was a time when I never thought I’d say this, but … yes. If there’s one man you can trust, it’s Severus Snape.”

 

She had known from the get-go that something was up with the guy. Ollivander’s words had only confirmed this. They had also made her curious, but although she hadn’t been too shy to ask the wandmaker a range of questions, he had only responded with a mysterious smile. “Go ask your friend Mr Snape”, he had told her repeatedly, getting down to business, whipping one wand after the other out of their drawers and boxes.

Finally, it had been a wand made of yew, with dragon heartstring at the core, 9-and-a-half inches, swishy. It became very warm in her hand and she liked the touch of it. Ollivander had also sold her a leather wand-sheath to tie around her lower arm. She found this very useful. Already at that point, Elena had made up her mind that she would rather bite her tongue off than wear robes.

 

* * *

 

Even in those early days, she had her own ideas on how she wanted to integrate magic into her life. She wanted to do it in her own way; after all, she had been a Muggle for twenty-four years and she wasn’t about to entirely give up her established lifestyle and habits. This proved to be a frequent source of arguments between her and her new teacher.

“I don’t see why I have to learn this”, she complained one day when Snape tried to get the finer points of a Shrinking Potion into her.

They were standing in his cellar which was not as cool as she had initially hoped due to all the potions simmering in their cauldrons down here. Snape stood in the middle of the fumes, his forehead cool and dry as ever, and gave her a depreciating look. “It’s basic knowledge for a witch”, he snarled.

“But I told you I don’t even like to cook”, she objected. “I have no talent for it, I can hardly get a decent pasta sauce together.”

“And I have told you repeatedly that this is not cooking!” he hissed, affronted.

“No, seriously”, she went on as if she hadn’t heard him, “all this peeling and cutting and crunching … I know already that I won’t do it. And why would I want to shrink anything, anyway? I’m not a pervert!”

“You’re not _anything_ yet.” If his black eyes could get any darker and colder, they did in this moment. “I’m trying to make you into _something_ and this is an elementary part of the process. That you don’t have fun doing it is of no significance.”

“This may all be well and true for your students at Hogwarts, Mr Snape”, Elena sighed. “But I’m an adult, you see? I’ve already had my basic education – as much as you may scorn it – and I know myself well enough to have an idea about what I’m going to use and what not. And I’m certainly not going to stand in front of a cauldron whipping up a bloody love potion, ‘cause – quite frankly – I think that’s a very stupid thing to do!”

“Why?” he had asked in puzzlement.

“’Cause I’d want to be loved for who I am and not because I gave someone a draught …”

“Maybe the love potion is a bad example”, he tried to reason with her. “Take veritaserum, for instance. It gives you the power to extract the truth. Wouldn’t you like that?”

“No.” She shook her head doggedly. “I want people to tell me the truth because they think I deserve it. Your veritaserum sounds a little too CIA to me. Experiments with LSD and all that. If you ask me, it’s fascist.”

His face darkened even further, as always when she used too many ‘mugglisms’ (as he called them) and he couldn’t quite follow. “You’re lazy, that’s all”, he lashed out. “You only want to do what comes to you easily and you shrink away when things get difficult.”

Elena suppressed a smile because he had unintentionally paid her a compliment. In fact, she had no problems with her charms and a good mind for Transfiguration in addition to that. These were things that fascinated her and which she practiced frequently, even when he was not around. However, she just loathed skinning shrivel figs and the hair on her arms stood on edge every time he made her touch boomslang.

“If we have to do this”, she tried to find a compromise, “couldn’t you teach me something useful? Like, making my own body lotions and shampoos, for instance?”

“I am to demean myself and cater to your vanity??”

“We’re not talking vanity here, Mr Snape, we’re talking practicality. I’m twenty-four years old, for God’s sake! I can’t learn everything in a few months that takes your students seven years to get into their heads. So mightn’t we just pick out some focal points?”

“Which you choose”, he completed, his voice laden with sarcasm.

“Why, shouldn’t my natural inclinations be used?”

“The mind doesn’t thrive on easy”, he snarled and it sounded final. “If you are having trouble with potions, that’s all the more reason not to give it up. I certainly won’t allow you to.”

Elena sighed. It was no use trying to persuade him when he had made up his mind. The more she argued, the more stubborn he became. ‘Just you wait, Henry Higgins’, she thought, ‘this wasn’t the last word we had on this.’ For the time being, however, she inclined her head, faking compliance. But he wasn’t stupid. For a few more moments, he glared at her, not trusting his luck that she had, in fact, given in. Over the course of the next hour, he made her work even harder, chop up herbs, clean slimy fungi and slit open the bellies of snails. Watching her disgusted face seemed to give him a degree of pleasure. It was also his way of getting her under control again.

He was all about control, that much was clear to Elena. Not only when it came to his teaching style but first and foremost where his own person was concerned. She never saw him exhibit any feelings other than boredom, irritation or down-right anger. The walls he had built around himself were rock-solid, rough and cold. Was he even capable of mirth, of laughter, did he know any joy? It was difficult to tell.

Again, she was intrigued. How had he become like this? Was this the result of a childhood in which he had obviously been neglected, or was there more, were there darker secrets that he harboured in his soul? Elena remembered Ollivander’s words, that if there was a man to be trusted it was Severus Snape. The wandmaker had spoken with something close to reverence. What about Snape had inspired this reaction?

She had to find out. And she would. Because if there was one thing Elena was good at, it was listening, storing information for further reference and – first and foremost – getting people to talk. She had always had a knack for it. However, this was exactly the reason why Snape was such a puzzle to her. She had never met a person so unreadable, so utterly opaque.

It challenged her sorely.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	8. Witch Confused

**Witch Confused**

 

Touching the tip of his wand to the pentagram he had carved into the doorjamb just above the cellar, Severus Snape strained his hears and was actually quite happy when a tumultuous clatter came back from downstairs. He even smiled with satisfaction. The trap was successfully set. It had taken him some time to figure it out, but now Applethorne’s little contraption promised to be quite useful. There was, after all, nothing like dark arts when you wanted forceful results, the downside being that the spells, incantations and apparatuses were hard to work. However, he was a man who appreciated a challenge.

Chuffed with himself he went upstairs and installed the same trap in the bedrooms, much quicker now that he knew how. There was only the protection for the ground floor left to consider. That would be trickier. The idea was that his wand – which he now carried on his body more faithfully than ever, especially since he had left it lying on the coffee table that day – would vibrate if anyone came in without permission. It was a sophisticated concept and much better than the locking spells he had invented, which – complex though they might be – could be broken down by an equally capable wizard. Not that Severus Snape truly believed that there were so many wizards around who were able to match him. However, if there were, they were certainly to be found among the ranks of former Death Eaters. He didn’t like to take any risks.

When he was done with the upstairs floor, he strolled into the kitchen, had another one of his frugal meals and checked the clock. Half past four. Another thirty minutes and Elena would be here. They would work for about three hours, give or take a little, and after she had left the time would be just about right for Fire Whiskey.

Stopping and giving himself a few moments to think, he had to admit that his life at Spinner’s End had improved. He even went as far as to admit that it had a lot to do with his Muggle-neighbour-turned-witch. She had given him something to do, had alleviated his boredom. Infuriating as she might be at times with her ideas on what she needed to learn and what she could do without, not to mention her constantly sharing her joys of being a witch, she had made him realize how much of a teacher lived inside him. Although he would never have chosen this profession for himself, it had grown on him and he found a distinct satisfaction in passing on what he knew.

He had been moderately pleased to find out that Elena Horwath had an eager mind and applied herself. He didn’t tell her that – he firmly believed that too much praise inevitably led to arrogance – but the speed by which she learned astonished him. It was obvious that she was interested and practised a lot. He remembered the day when she had come to his house, proudly reporting that she had done all her ironing with her wand. He’d had to stop himself from smiling. Teaching her was different from teaching Hogwarts students. She wanted to learn, she didn’t see his lessons as a mere nuisance she had to endure, and that was a pleasant change. Well, at least unless potions were concerned.

In his mind, he quickly went through what he would present her with today. He already had a plan. The day before, he had taken her to a clearing in the nearby woods, initiating her into fighting spells. They hadn’t gone beyond simple disarming and stupefying curses but she had emerged from the woods bruised and exhausted. He had challenged her to disarm him which she had eagerly tried, but of course she had been unsuccessful. Spell after spell had rebounded and sent her flying into the undergrowth way more than once. He had felt a little pity there. However, it was his believe that he had to give her an authentic experience. She had to know what she could come up against, otherwise any kind of defence against dark arts made no sense at all. He’d had to learn the hard way. Now it was her turn.

A fluttering noise interrupted his musings. Another black owl had arrived, sitting on the outer window sill of the sitting room and blinking at him darkly. He relieved the bird of its message – another parchment covered in blood-red letters – and sent it on its way without reward. The parchment he stowed away in his secret compartment without reading it. He certainly wasn’t going to go into ever more imaginative ways in which he might be tortured and killed. There was a bad feeling in his guts, however. Maybe he was becoming paranoid, but he had an increasing sense of being watched. Something was going to happen. Which brought him back to the traps …

Severus went to the back door of his house, disabled the complex locking spells and set out to install Applethorne’s vibrating contraption. However, it proved very tricky indeed. The basic preparations were all very well and he had already learnt the required incantations by heart. Twenty minutes later, however, he still hadn’t managed to properly set it. And Elena would be here any minute.

He sighed with frustration, broke off his efforts and re-installed the usual locking spells. He’d have to try another time. Now he had to get the textbooks out. It would be theory today since he expected her to be still physically worn-out after yesterday’s exertions. So he went back to the sitting room, opened the DADA book and made a few notes. And he waited …

Half an hour later, he was still waiting. Already fifteen minutes before that, he had started to become furious. This tardiness of hers! What could be so important to delay her like that?

He continued to wait but she didn’t come. Slowly, the bad feeling in his gut made itself felt again. Maybe something had happened to her? He remembered that she was still essentially a Muggle girl. He also remembered the present state of the world (she constantly spoke about the victimization and exploitation of women) and began to worry. Although a voice in the back of his head told him that he was just projecting his own fears onto her, he started to fidget with nervousness until he couldn’t take it any longer. He got up, left his house and went over to her place.

He rung the doorbell, but there was no answer. However, her black tom Lux was lying on the doormat, watching him sleepily. Severus had mistrusted that cat from the get-go, but Elena was fiercely protective of him and since this was true witchy behaviour, he’d let it pass. Now, however, he saw his chance and did what he had wanted to do for quite a while.

Having whipped out his wand, he pointed it at the cat and muttered “ _Revelate_ ”. After all, the beast claimed to be a jinxed wizard. Nothing happened, however. He tried with “ _Finite_ _Incantatem_ ”, but Lux merely blinked at him in an immensely bored manner, as if to say ‘Sorry, mate. Been there. Done that. Won’t do.’

Where could she have gone and not taken the cat? Severus had another idea. He raised his wand at Lux again, looked into the yellow eyes and performed a discrete _Legilimens_. It was tricky on animals, but the stream of consciousness that greeted him was very conclusive indeed. Maybe the cat _was_ a jinxed wizard, after all.

At least, he now knew where to find her. He hesitated. Should he go? He didn’t really feel like it, but he resented the fact that she had stood him up even more.

After standing by her front door for a while, undecided, he finally gave a grunt and shook his wand angrily. There was a _whoosh_ and a second later, Severus Snape had Disapparated from Spinner’s End …

 

* * *

 

Her hips had started to hurt. Again and again, Micah had her roll them. The rumba was a particularly slow one and she hated the song, George Michael’s _Father Figure_. It was cheesy. It was steamy. And most disconcertingly, it made her think of Severus Snape.

“Will you concentrate?! Please!” Micah had broken off the dance, dashing over to the stereo. “What’s wrong with you?” he hurled at her when the music had stopped. “The rumba used to be your thing!”

‘If only you knew’, she thought by herself and tried a smile. “I guess it’s not my day.”

“No!” Micah had taken to contradicting her lately. “It’s part of a bigger picture, Ellie! It was the same yesterday with the seniors. You didn’t even notice Mr Koothrappali was out of step most of the time. – Hey, I thought I could count on you for the weekend?”

“You can. I just have a most horrible …” She couldn’t come up with the word for ‘Muskelkater’, she was so exhausted. Her arms were a sight, too, scratched by thorns and needles in the undergrowth. Damn Snape! He was so …

No. Don’t even go there.

What was actually worse than her sore muscles was the fact that she should have been at his place at Spinner’s End almost forty minutes ago. But Micah had made her go through all the dances that they would do at a contest on the weekend which she had promised him long ago when she had not yet been a witch. She wanted to honour her promises, but Severus Snape had gotten in the way, quite literally.

‘Snape will survive’, she told herself. ‘He knows I have a life.’ However, she was not sure he knew what that meant. Her two worlds were already beginning to tear at her and she was not yet ready to relinquish any of them. Right now, all the same, she would have given anything for a telephone spell so that she could call him up and tell him she’d still come. But means of communication were not his strong suit, not even as a part of his teaching schedule.

Micah was approaching her now. She knew right away that he was going to take the tender route. “Your mind’s been elsewhere lately”, he said, looking into her eyes. “If you don’t want to tell me where, that’s fine, but I have to know if you will be up for Saturday. I could still ask Vera.”

Oh yeah. Ask Vera. And have fun. “I will be up for it”, she sighed. “I just need a good night’s sleep and everything will be fine. Saturday is not a …”

“Ellie?” Sue, her boss, had entered the ballroom. She wore a wide smile on her elaborately made-up face that seemed intentionally exaggerated. Something was up. “There is … _someone_ … waiting for you outside.”

She knew who it was even before she looked through the studio’s glass fronts. She felt the colour rise in her cheeks. ‘Now, that is some tense reaction’, the parrot on her shoulder that was her mind observed, ‘have we become involved in something?’

Had she?

She threw Micah an apologetic glance, then went out of the studio in a daze. No mistake, Severus Snape was waiting in the reception area, leaning against the wall, looking bored an arrogant. Elena sensed right away that he was in a nasty mood and couldn’t wait to take it out on her. She already resented it and steeled herself. At the same time, she suddenly felt very light.

“OK, let’s get it over with”, she greeted him airily.

He looked at her askance, with fiercely drawn brows.

“Give it to me”, she continued. “I’m late, I’m very late, I’m unforgivably late. Let’s have it!”

“Don’t be dramatic”, he scoffed.

“You don’t have a phone!” she reproached him, deciding that attack was the best defence.

“Why would I?”

“How would I reach you in case of an emergency?”

“By the classic means.”

“I don’t remember any ‘classic means’ being the contents of any one of your lessons, Professor!”

“Even more so, you should have been on time.”

She suppressed an urge to slap the smugness out of his face and breathed deeply. He needed to be pushed off balance. Right now. “Since you’re here”, she said with a malicious grin, “how about a dancing lesson?”

The look he gave her was another candidate for Snape’s Nastiest Top Ten of the week. However, she had successfully taken the wind out of his sails. He couldn’t think of anything to say and just glared at her instead.

“Let me just quickly tie up some loose ends here”, she said placatorily, “and then we can go.” She smiled. “I’m hurting all over. That was some intense lesson yesterday.”

But he wasn’t so easily mollified. He made an impatient gesture commanding her to get on with it.

Micah came out of the ballroom. “I guess that’s you gone?” he called to her, his face sour.

Once more, Elena sighed. Two men in a foul mood were too much. “Let’s put in another session tomorrow”, she suggested. “Today I’m just not up for it.”

“Around six?” Micah jumped at the opportunity. “We will need some time. Better don’t make any other dates.” His eyes wandered towards Snape, giving him a hard look. The wizard, however, didn’t even acknowledge Micah’s presence and stared at some invisible spot in mid-air.

Elena’s heart raced unreasonably. There was a tension in the air that was fast becoming oppressive. She hurtled towards the wardrobe, exchanged her dancing shoes for a pair of high heels and packed up her stuff.

“I’m ready”, she announced when she came back to the two men – Micah still taking in Snape, Snape doggedly ignoring him – and the wizard pushed himself from the wall, making towards the entrance without a backward glance. Elena quickly blew a kiss on Micah’s cheek. “See you tomorrow then. And sorry for today.”

Micah mouthed something to her – ‘What the fuck’s up with this guy?’ – but she shrugged as if she hadn’t heard and dashed after Snape who was already on the stairs. He always did that, running ahead, confident that she would follow. It made her angry.

“Why come for me here?” she challenged him when they had reached the busy street outside of the dancing school.

“I thought you might have forgotten our appointment”, he replied. "I wanted to remind you.”

“And embarrass me”, she concluded.

He gave her a side-look that was hard to read. “I am sorry you find my presence embarrassing”, he said, but there wasn’t a least bit of hurt in his voice, just menace.

“You _could_ be a little more social, you know”, she complained.

“No”, he said simply, “I couldn’t.”

“You mean you wouldn’t”, she corrected.

He gave her a crooked, self-satisfied half-smile and walked on, his eyes searching for a quiet place from where they could Disapparate without being seen.

“Wait”, Elena called after him. “I’m starving.”

He stopped and looked at her with little enthusiasm. “Have you nothing in your fridge?”

“Some wilted lettuce, that’s all. – There’s a pizza parlour a few streets down. Let’s go there. It’s very quiet.” The last words she had added in a rush, but they didn’t do anything to alleviate the dismay in his face.

“We are late as it is”, he pointed out.

“What does it matter whether we start at five or six or even seven?” she said reasonably. “Are you going to a party tonight?”

The mere suggestion made him sneer.

“See”, Elena said, satisfied. “We’ll just finish up a little later today.” Her eyes twinkled. “You’ll still have lots of time for your Fire Whiskey.”

A little jolt went through him. Elena saw that he wondered how she knew, but then a sardonic trait appeared around his mouth. He had clearly cottoned on, intelligent as he was. “That cat of yours is a right little spy”, he commented. “Forever stalking around my house.”

“It’s none of my business”, Elena murmured.

“No, it isn’t.”

She must remember never to make concessions with this man. He always took advantage of them, gentlemanly retreat was an alien concept to him. However, he had not objected to the pizza parlour, so she took the lead and turned into a small side street. The restaurant wasn’t a grand affair and looked more like a fast-food place with plastic chairs and white tiles covering the walls. The pizza was good, though, and the two Italian guys working the oven knew Elena and greeted her with broad grins and the inevitable “ _Ciao, bella carina_ ”. She chose a table and Snape gingerly took a seat, looking about himself with disgust. He refused to order anything, just sat on the edge of his chair, fidgeting. It was going to be some cosy meal!

Elena did her best to ignore his impatience. She greedily downed a coke and when her Pizza Margarita came, she devoured it with happy little sighs while he darkly watched her slobbering. The George Michael song came back into her head. Elena had a penchant for what she called ‘earworms’, songs that would eat themselves into her brain and refuse to leave, and it didn’t matter if she liked them or not. _I will be your father figure, put your tiny hand in mine, I will be your preacher teacher …_ She shook herself. A piece of hot mozzarella glided from the pizza and landed on her lap. “Fuck me …”, she hissed at the dirty spot it left on her summer skirt.

“Do all Muggle women swear like troopers?” Snape asked icily.

“Yesss”, she replied, imitating his tone, “why should we leave it to the men?”

He scoffed and she giggled.

“I know, a true witch behaves with dignity and decorum”, her voice was thick with irony. “And there I was, thinking witchdom had something to do with independence.”

“You consider swearing to be a sign of independence?”

“No. But you just confirmed my view that witches and wizards are far more old-fashioned than Muggles. And prudish, too.”

“What makes you think that? After all, you don’t know that many witches and wizards.”

“But I have eyes in my head”, she pointed out. “The trip to Diagon Alley was enough. You all behave like you were stuck in the past, like you all escaped out of some Victorian novel.”

“It’s true that many of us are nostalgic about the olden days”, he admitted, “when we didn’t yet have to hide ourselves to escape _your_ pyres and persecution. However, I assure you that the wizarding world is just as promiscuous as yours, even if we may be a little more discrete about it.”

He had spoken haughtily and now he sat on the edge of his chair, arms akimbo, clearly uncomfortable, but also smug because he thought he had proven a point. Elena eyed him, this strange man with his pale skin, the black hair and eyes. He was all sharp features and contrasts. Not a beauty at all. However, looking at him did something to her … _I will be your father figure, I have had enough of crime, I will be the one who loves you …_

She tore off her eyes. At the same time, she felt the colour rise in her cheeks again. What was wrong with her? Was it because she was still sore from yesterday’s flying into bushes and brambles? She felt bruised, insecure, not at all her usual self.

A strange thought suddenly entered her mind. It was there before she had a chance of banning it. Was he a virgin? Had he ever …? What kind of woman would …?

Suddenly she realized that she had lost her appetite.

“Are you going to finish this?” asked Snape with a glance at the considerable amount of pizza still on her plate.

“You’re welcome to share”, she offered, already knowing what the reaction would be. Sure enough, he gave an almost affronted shake of his head.

“Can we go, then?”

“Don’t you like it here?” she teased.

“Not specifically. I just didn’t want you to go into lessons hungry. It might mar your concentration and we have a lot to do today.”

“Are you going to take me to the woods again, Professor?” As before, she had only wanted to tease him, but it came out suggestively, as if she really wanted to say something entirely different.

Maybe unconsciously, he had picked up on it and uncomfortably played with his cuffs. “No. It’s going to be theory today.”

“Thank God”, she breathed, crumpled up her paper napkin and threw it on the plate. “Let me just pay this and then we’re off.”

Was she wrong or had he smiled when she said that? If he had, however, the smile was gone before it registered properly. Elena got up and walked over to the counter, rummaging for money in her handbag. Her knees were shaky.

This was definitely not her day.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	9. The Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus and Elena are getting some action ...

**The Attack**

 

Elena had no idea that the day was going to get much worse.

When they arrived at his house at Spinner’s End, Snape made her go down into the cellar to check on the Hair-Raising potion that he had insisted she start on a few days ago. Elena rolled her eyes. He and his useless mingles! Her own hair grew fine by itself and she certainly didn’t want any more. She had suggested hair-erasing or hair-epilating – or anything more closely connected to reality – but as per usual, he had only sneered at her supposed vanity.

Knowing that arguing with him was in vain, she had slouched down to the oppressive cellar rooms with their many cauldrons and smelly fumes. Her own potion simmered in a corner looking very strange indeed. It should have been a creamy whitish colour, but it was more spotty grey at the moment. Dispiritedly, she took the potions textbook from the shelf and went through the recipe again in order to find out what was wrong. Snape was pottering about upstairs, she could hear him walk around. Elena had the distinct feeling he had sent her down here as a punishment for her tardiness. His whole life seemed to consist of these subtle little revenges. Hadn’t he said it would be theory today? How much more she would have enjoyed sitting on his couch with her nose in a book and listening to his beautiful British intonation and that voice of his that was so silky, so mesmerizing …

She stopped herself. Suddenly she realized that it wouldn’t do to ignore the elephant in the room any longer. Something was wrong with her and she had a suspicion what it might be. So she allowed the thought in. Could it be – was it even conceivable? – that she had _the hots_ for Severus Snape? Carefully, she probed into herself. There was something about him, definitely, that set her on edge. But was it just because he so successfully continued to annoy her? Or didn’t the feeling originate from her guts at all, but from other, nether regions?

Elena braced herself and put it to the only and ultimate test, letting an image flood her mind. She and he, naked, his long slender fingers touching her … _Fuck!_ She had to jolt herself out of it. The thought was too disconcerting, it embarrassed her, brought heat to her cheeks and moisture to her panties. At the same time, it was hardly bearable. _This man_ of all people? This strange, awkward, brilliant, arrogant, out-worldly piece of shit? It made her brim with anger and excitement. ‘I must be mad’, she told herself, ‘or seriously under-fucked.’

While musing, she had taken the jar with powdered lacewings down from the shelf. Maybe it was what the Hair-Raising potion needed. In her experience, when a potion went wrong – and hers almost always went wrong – lacewing powder did the trick. Why not give it a try? She took out a generous pinch and threw it into the recalcitrant potion. Instantly, it began to boil. No, to foam. At first Elena looked at the liquid doubtfully, then with increasing alarm. She hardly had time to realize that lacewings had probably been a bad idea before the cauldron foamed over, the bubbles mounting higher and higher in front of her widening eyes, until, suddenly …

 

* * *

 

The loud bang coming from the cellar made Severus drop his wand in shock. He had been fiddling around with the alarm for the back door again. The problem he encountered with setting it had occupied his mind the whole time when he had collected Elena from her dancing school and while sitting in that horrible Mugglish pizza parlour. His original plan had been to go into the theory of fighting spells with her, but shortly before they had arrived at Spinner’s End he had changed his mind. He simply _had_ to work out how Applethorne’s contraption worked. He had waited long enough as it was.

Therefore, as soon as they had entered his house, he had sent Elena down to the cellar to keep her busy. In the meantime, he had uninstalled his locking spells once more and gone through the required incantations and jinxes to make the alarm work. He had also sworn a lot, his mood on the verge of turning seriously sour.

All the hairs on his body where on edge now. The bang reverberated in his ears and for a few seconds, he wasn’t able to move. Then, however, a wave of worry washed over him. What had happened? Was she alright?

Severus grabbed his wand from the floor and started towards the cellar. He took two steps at once, his heart beating hard against his ribcage. He shouldn’t have left her alone down there. It had been stupid, selfish …

He found her standing in front of a burst cauldron, eyes wide with shock. There were grey flakes in her copious light-brown hair and all over her clothes. Otherwise she seemed alright, though, and she turned to him the second he charged into the room.

“I didn’t do anything!”

Snape exhaled. Her voice sounded lively and her defence mechanisms were firmly in place. When it came to messing up her potions, she always behaved like a little child, eagerly claiming that she hadn’t done anything and that was how he knew that indeed she had.

He looked at the mess, the grey flakes and inhaled the smell occupying the little room. “You didn’t add any lacewings by any chance?” he breathed tiredly.

“Um … well … I remember you saying that lacewings always help …”

“I said no such thing!” he growled. “Lacewings _may_ help if the potion’s not viscous enough, but if anything, yours …”

She slapped her hand against her forehead. “Not viscous enough! _That_ was it …”

“Now look what you’ve done”, he hissed, taking in the destruction. He went over to the cauldron with his healing potion. As he had feared, a generous portion of the grey foam had swapped over into it. The contents of the cauldron were completely ruined.

He brimmed inside. A part of him wanted to shout at her, grab her by the shoulders and shake her to her senses. Then, again, he was well aware of the fact that he shouldn’t have left her alone, not even with something as straightforward as a Hair-Raising potion. He looked at her, torn between anger and resignation. She observed him with one of her coy little looks that said ‘Please, don’t bust my ass.’ How anyone with her magical talents could be such a Neville Longbottom when it came to potions was completely beyond him.

“Upstairs”, he growled. “Bathroom.”

She rushed off instantly, clearly glad to get out of the line of fire. Listening to her feet trampling up the steps, Snape took out his wand and with a sigh proceeded to clean up the mess, musing on how he always ended up doing this, cleaning other people’s mess-ups. He would have to start from scratch with the healing potion. And he would have to think of a punishment. Damn thing he couldn’t give her detention. But a plan was already forming in his mind …

 

* * *

 

She came back down after a fashion, with wet hair, damp spots on her clothes and a meek expression on her face. Not too meek, however, because the first thing she said was “You don’t even have any shampoo in your bathroom.”

“Are you complaining again?” he asked dangerously, but she quickly shook her head, though looking as if something had just become very clear to her.

She strolled around in the cellar while he set a fire over which he hung a clean cauldron. “Get your writing stuff”, he commanded curtly.

She obligingly took down the writing pad and pen which she kept on one of the shelves – she refused to use parchment and quill – and sat down on a little stool.

“We’ll try a different approach today”, he announced, “seeing that you just don’t seem to be able to get your head around this.”

“I’m sorry”, she murmured, head down.

He just waved his hand impatiently. “You will watch what I’m doing”, he said, “and write it down in as much detail as you can. Maybe you will learn better by example.”

“What are you making?” she wanted to know.

“A healing potion”, he replied. “You spoilt mine.”

For a second, he thought that she would apologize again but she just exhaled, letting her shoulders fall. “What’s it supposed to heal?” she asked.

A tart reply was on the tip of his tongue, but then he remembered that he should really be glad for any interest she showed in this field. By way of an explanation, he raised his hand to the tightly wound scarf around his neck.

“I thought there was something”, she said with a curious look on her face. She just wasn’t able to keep her mouth shut. “What exactly happened to your neck?”

“No personal questions”, he reminded her darkly, upon which she shot him an exasperated look. However, she finally remained silent, bending over her writing pad and intently watching him while he moved around the cellar, starting from scratch, cutting, skinning, crushing, not uttering a word and soon becoming completely immersed in what he was doing …

 

* * *

 

Watching him work was fascinating, she had to give him that. It was obvious that he was in his element. His movements were smooth and almost elegant, his usual twitchiness completely gone. There was no superfluous action, every motion of the hand well practiced. Even his face seemed relaxed now, the deep lines around his eyes and mouth had softened and he looked much younger. How old was he, anyway? It was difficult to tell and could have been anywhere between thirty and fifty.

Distracting thoughts started to invade her mind again, but she pushed them out fiercely. After what she had done with her potion, she still felt a little ashamed and didn’t dare put him off again by lack of attention. Damn it, she was trying to please him! It was almost as hard as cooking up a Hair-Raising potion.

However, the approach he had suggested seemed far more reasonable to her. Her notes quickly filled a page. After half an hour, she was completely focussed on the matter at hand. Every now and then, she hazarded a question to which he replied evenly. His anger had gone.

Suddenly, while she was still scribbling away eagerly, she noticed that he had stopped in his tracks. He was standing by the cauldron, completely still, with a hard-to-read expression on his face.

“What is it?” Involuntarily she whispered, but he quickly put his index finger up to his lips, cautioning her to silence.

The lines on his face were back, a particularly deep crease forming above his nose. Snape moved around the cauldron and now Elena understood that he was straining his ears. He had heard something and worry suffused his features.

“Stay here”, he commanded, whipping out his wand. “Do not leave this room _under any circumstances_!”

The atmosphere in the small cellar room had changed within a matter of seconds. Peaceful concentration had made way for a peculiar tension and a chill ran down Elena’s spine. What the hell was going on?

She watched Snape creeping towards the stairs. His steps were almost noiseless. He looked at her over his shoulders, sternly, worried, and silently cautioned her again to stay put. Then he went up quietly.

Elena remained on her stool. She didn’t dare breathe. Her heart was beating fast against her ribcage. Her body was showing all the symptoms of fear – but why? She must have picked it up from Snape.

She had always known that something was up with him. Also, she had always had an uneasy sense of danger which, however, she had tried to ignore, thinking it illogical. Now, suddenly, this sense was back, magnified, multiplied even. She remembered his face before he had gone upstairs, a pale unreadable mask. Elena looked down at her hands and realized they were trembling.

There was a noise from upstairs. Just a tiny screech, but it made her sit up in alarm. Only about two seconds later, she heard a tremendous bang, followed by a noise which suspiciously sounded like a body falling down stairs. She was on her feet now and fumbled her wand from the leather sheath that was tied around her left lower arm. The sound of pulse in her ears was almost as loud as the banging she’d heard.

As quietly as she could, she went towards the stairs, listening intently. The steps were weakly illuminated, leading into darkness. Out of this darkness came a shadow.

“Lux!” she whispered.

Sure enough, it was her black cat, eyes ablaze, excited.

“Your boy’s in trouble”, he communicated in his usual non-verbal manner.

“How’d you get in?” she asked in the same way.

“Same way as they. He forgot to lock the back door.”

“ _They_?”

“Whoever they are, they’re up to no good. Better stay put. If you’re lucky, they might not find you.”

Elena’s heart raced. Intruders? Burglars, perhaps? But no, they couldn’t be burglars. Snape would have made short work of them, a bunch of Muggle gangsters wouldn’t have got him into trouble. A nightmare was unfolding. However, she realized it didn’t surprise her at all. She had always had premonitions, ever since her childhood, but she was so used to ignoring those feelings – in order to fit in, to be ‘normal’ – that she hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on them. Now, every cell in her body screamed ‘Danger’.

‘I’ve got to help him’, she thought.

The cat looked at her hard, trying to object, but she shook her head doggedly, not prepared to put up with his arguments. Lux knew her quite well by now. He didn’t make any further attempt to dissuade her; cats knew how to accept the inevitable. “You got your wand?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Well, then. Remember, you’ve got the element of surprise as your advantage.”

Slowly and with shaking hands, she went up the steps. Lux crept in front of her, leading the way. In that moment, another loud thud came from upstairs and someone was panting hard. There was a slithering noise, as of a body dragged along the floor. Then a laugh. Malicious, chilling. Elena didn’t recognize the voice.

The landing was now only a few feet away. The door to the cellar was open and she went up another step, now able to look over the edge of the stairs into the hallway. What she saw made her blood freeze.

It was Snape. He lay on his back on the dusty floorboards, his head to the side, an ugly bleeding gash across his forehead. His black eyes met hers as she came up and widened. There was an almost imperceptible shake of his head. ‘Don’t. Stay where you are’, it was telling her.

In that moment, a shadow fell over his pale face. It seemed huge in the weak light that flooded the hallway. Another laugh, the same as before. Elena could see the shadow moving over Snape, and a moment later she heard a voice, low and menacing, saying only one word.

“ _Crucio!_ ”

With a jerk, Snape’s body rose inches above the floor, twitching and turning at awkward angles. His face became distorted, his hands clenched into fists, his eyes rolling up in the sockets until only the whites were visible. A horrible gurgling noise issued from his throat.

Elena stood on the steps frozen, staring at the ghastly scene in disbelief. She felt his pain almost as if it was her own. For a moment, all thoughts in her brain seemed to have gone, there was only a high-pitched singing tone and she felt as if she might pee any second. She had hardly ever witnessed violence in her life and this was not ordinary brutality, but a magical one, a very badly magical one.

Snape’s body thudded to the floor. He rolled his head, groaned. His hand twitched towards the cellar door where Elena saw his wand lying on the boards, well out of reach for him.

“It’s over, traitor”, said a low, husky voice. “All your preparations were for nothing. You’re going to bleed now.” And again, there was that horrible word – “ _Crucio!_ ” – and Snape’s body rose from the floor once more, quivering and jerking.

Something roared inside of Elena. It was the angry holler of a lioness whose cub was being attacked by a jackal. Her fingers tightened around her wand. Later, she wouldn’t be able to say why and how she did what she did next. The only thought on her mind was ‘the element of surprise’.

With a swift jump, she was up on the landing, wand raised. She hardly had any time to take in the black-cloaked figure standing there towering over Snape. She let loose all the fury bubbling in her belly and her throat, and lunging forward, she cried “ _Stupefy_!”

The black-cloaked figure was swept of its feet, blasted backwards into front door. Hinges screamed, wood croaked. Stunned by the impact, the black-cloaked man sank to the floor.

“ _Expelliarmus_!” cried Elena, stepping over Snape’s body, and a wand flew towards her, over her head, cluttering to the ground somewhere behind her.

Now she could see the black-cloaked man’s face. He had a ragged stubble, gleaming yellowish eyes and an angry old scar across his face. The blast that had sent him flying into the door had rung his bell, but not taken him out of commission. He stared at Elena in surprise, but slowly a menacing smile came to his lips as he pushed himself up from the floor to his full height which was considerable.

“Well, well”, he whispered in a hoarse voice, “so Severus Snape has got himself a little girl …”

Elena knew that this was not over. Snape had mentioned once that practiced wizards were able to do wandless magic and it was a reasonable guess that this man would be able to outdo her any time if she didn’t act quickly. After all, disarming and stunning was all Snape had shown her. She couldn’t hurt or maim.

Her insides churned. She sensed the little girl in herself getting stronger, ready to cry out for her mom, seeking shelter in flight. She must not allow the little girl to take over.

Elena raised her wand again and stared the man in the eyes as menacingly as she could. She thought of Clarice Starling in _The Silence of the Lambs_ , of Leeloo in _The Fifth Element_. Quickly she advanced, hoping that her glare was convincing and didn’t give away her fear. The man’s eyes flickered. He didn’t know what she would do, what she was able to do.

‘The element of surprise’. The words reverberated in her head. And suddenly she knew.

She let her wand fall to the floor. With a swift kick, she planted her high heel into his knee. The man’s eyes went wide. He certainly hadn’t expected this.

Before he could recover, Elena came closer and went for another kick, pushing her knee between his legs as hard as she could. Now he wheezed, buckled. As his head came down, she quickly dug her fingers into his hair and smashed her knee into his face. Once. Twice. There was a bone-breaking crack. The man went to his knees with a constricted moan. With a kick-ball change, Elena switched sides and banged her other knee into his temple. All her anger and fear went into this hit and it sent him keeling over on the floor.

Panting, she stood over him. The man’s face was blank. He had passed out. She couldn’t believe her luck. Now, who said Women’s Self-Defence was useless?

Her glee only lasted for the fraction of one second, though. Then fear threatened to overtake her, she started shaking uncontrollably. A noise behind her brought her to her senses and reminded her of Snape who was still lying on the floor. She rushed to his side. His face was blank, the pallor in it turned to grey. His breathing was shallow.

“Severus”, she whispered, her fingers touching his face while the hair in the nape of her neck stood on edge. Her stomach churned as she realized that the danger was not over yet. The man she had taken out would come to sooner or later. She didn’t know what to do. There wasn’t even a phone to call the police!

Lux appeared by her side. “There’s another one”, he let her know. “Just came in by the cellar window …”

Elena’s throat constricted. What now? She turned once more to the listless man on the ground. “Sev… Mr Snape!” She shook him. “Wake up, please, wake up!”

His eyelids fluttered. Slowly, painfully slowly, his black eyes focussed on her, his breathing ragged now.

“There’s another intruder in the house”, she informed him, her words tumbling over each other. “I’ve taken the one guy out, but he’s going to wake up.” She turned quickly over her shoulder where the black-cloaked intruder still lay immovably. “Tell me what to do!”

A groan came from his throat while he tried to move and a painful wince contorted his features. Elena didn’t care. She grabbed him by his robes, shaking him. “The other one is in the cellar, I don’t know what …”

Snape’s eyes became wide all of a sudden as if her words had shaken him out of his state. “Elena”, he wheezed and she could see that it took him an immense effort to get the word out. It was the first time he had called her by her Christian name. “My wand …”

“It’s here!” She lunged across the floor towards the cellar door and retrieved his wand, wanted to lay it in his hands, but his fingers didn’t move.

“Take it”, he whispered hoarsely, “the door to the cellar … pentagram … touch it …”

She didn’t understand what he meant, but all the same she grabbed his wand and scrambled to her feet. She dashed to the cellar door and in fact, there was a pentagram carved into the door jamb. Trembling, she touched the tip of his wand to it. A second later there was a loud clatter from downstairs, accompanied by a horrible scream. Then silence fell.

Elena stood there, dazed. Suddenly she remembered her own wand which was still lying on the floor beside the black-cloaked figure that now started to writhe slightly. Again, she dashed across the hallway, got her wand. As she got up, she grabbed a dusty but sturdy-looking vase from the sill of the small window beside the front door. With as much zeal as she could muster, she smashed it over the moving figure’s head, sending a kick after it, for good measure. Once more, the intruder collapsed on the floor.

Slowly, Elena turned around. Her eyes met Snape’s. He had turned to his side now with what seemed like almost unbearable pain. However, his eyes held on to hers. Suddenly, a crooked smile appeared on his lips. “Good”, he wheezed, “good.”

And he passed out.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	10. The Ministry Men

**The Ministry Men**

 

Elena knelt by his side for what seemed like an eternity. She watched his chest rising and falling, relieved that he was still breathing. Her fingers absently stroked his face, gingerly probing the gash on his forehead and she murmured to him without noticing it. The words were sweet and tender, though in German. She was trembling all over now. Time and again, she turned over her shoulder, suspiciously checking on the huddled figure by the door.

“I’d tie him up if I were you”, Lux remarked and Elena nodded. Good idea. And it would keep her busy, allowing her to not break down. She mustn’t let that happen. She needed to stay alert as long as Snape was out.

She got up and hurried to the sitting room. She found the sash cord by the curtains and tore it off viciously. Coming back out into the hallway, she inhaled deeply before she dared to touch the black-cloaked man. With all her strength she dragged him away from the door, over to the stair-rail. With flying hands, she managed to tie the intruder up, though how long her knots would hold she could not tell. She merely hoped it would do for a while.

However, she needed a plan. What should she do? Call the police? Surely not. What would she tell them? That bad wizards had broken into the house, knocking out her neighbour and torturing him with a wand? They’d pack her off to an asylum. What did one do if a crime occurred in the wizarding world?

It was in this moment that Snape gave off another drawn-out groan. His eyes opened and she bent over him eagerly. His focus was better now, consciousness gained the upper hand. Elena breathed with relief, but didn’t know what to say.

Snape lay still for a while and looked at her. His expression was hard to read. Then his body began to struggle.

“Help me up”, he demanded hoarsely.

She complied, grabbed him by the arm and had him sit up. In a painfully slow process, she helped him to his feet. He was panting, coughing, spitting even, and the weight of his thin frame was surprisingly heavy on her shoulders. Beads of sweat ran over his face.

Elena supported him to the couch in the sitting room onto which he fell like a sack of potatoes, lying his head back against the rest. “Tell me”, he croaked.

Quickly and suddenly with a heavy accent, she gave him the low-down of what had happened. He listened with his eyes closed, giving the occasional nod. Then he pointed towards the fireplace.

“Light it”, he said, “and then give me the jar with the powder that you’ll find on the mantelpiece.”

Elena did as she was told, glad to have something to do. Concentrating on the task at hand and on the raggedly breathing man on the couch kept her from shaking. Amazed, she watched him taking a handful of the green powder she had brought him and hurling it into the fireplace. “Kingsley Shacklebolt”, Snape said in a hoarse voice, “Ministry of Magic.”

The flames in the fireplace turned green and after a few seconds, much to Elena’s awe, a glowing face appeared in the embers. So there _were_ means of communication in the magical world, after all. Her head spun. It was all becoming a little bit too much.

“Yes?” the face said, eyes blinking.

“This is Severus Snape”, the wizard spoke to the fireplace. “I’m at my home at Spinner’s End, Cokeworth. I’ve got two Death Eaters here that intruded into my house. I’d be obliged if you could send someone over to get them.”

Again, the face blinked, saying nothing for a few seconds. In spite of the embers, Elena recognized astonishment in the fiery features. “Alright, Professor”, the face finally said. “Stay put. We’ll be with you in a sec.”

When the face had disappeared, Snape gave another long sigh and closed his eyes again. Elena couldn’t contain herself any longer. “What _the hell_ are Death Eaters?” She knelt on the couch beside him.

He didn’t reply directly, but murmured something which sounded like “Just wait”. Too worked up to sit still, Elena jumped up and walked over to the low table on which a bottle of Fire Whiskey stood. She poured a generous amount into a glass and pressed it into Snape’s hand. His eyes opened and a rare mild expression flitted over his face. He raised the glass to his lips and downed the liquid in a few greedy gulps.

 

* * *

 

Only a few minutes later, there was a knock on the front door. It made Elena jump in shock.

“That will be Shacklebolt”, Snape sighed. “Could you open please?” He looked a sight, pale and bloody. However, the whiskey had brought back a little colour to his face and his eyes were more alert now.

Once again, Elena did his bidding. She shuddered when she passed the tied-up figure in the hallway. The intruder had started to writhe and moan, face mangled. He raised his head, focussing on her.

“Bloody slut”, he hissed, struggling with the sash cord tightly wound around is wrists. “Wait until I get my hands on you …”

A chill ran down Elena’s spine and she quickly made to the door, tearing it open, sucking in the nightly air that greeted her. Three men stood outside. She knew instantly that they were wizards, in spite of their ordinary clothes. One of them was quite burly, with dark skin, an ornate cap on his bald head, gripping a wand. He looked taken aback when he saw her.

“Is this Severus Snape’s house?” he asked uncertainly.

“Who’s asking?” she demanded, yet a long way from relaxing.

“We’re from the Ministry, ma’am”, the man replied cautiously. “My name is Kingsley Shacklebolt. We received a call from Mr Snape.”

Elena exhaled and stepped aside. “He’s in the sitting room”, she said.

As the three men stepped past her, taking in the hallway and setting eyes on the bloody swearing figure on the floor, Elena’s head began to swim. She couldn’t feel her feet anymore and her knees buckled. The fear and excitement had finally overtaken her. Swiftly, one of the three men stepped forward and caught her in his arms. Like Shacklebolt, he was tall, but quite thin. He had light-brown hair flecked with grey, was wrapped up in a coat smelling of mothballs and his face was very worn-out and sad, although with an underlying kindness. Elena steadied herself by grabbing his arm, trying desperately not to faint. Just how embarrassing would that be!

“Thank you”, she said weakly.

“Don’t mention it”, the man replied and a wan smile crossed his face. “Rough night?”

“You can say that again.” She struggled to stand on her own two feet. “It’s alright, it’s alright …” Why did her words suddenly sound so slurred?

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. Absolutely sure.” She attempted a brave smile to his kind and worried face.

The next thing she remembered was falling head over heels into a soft heap of grey, warm and soothing cotton wool …

 

* * *

 

The soft murmur of voices woke her up. She felt disoriented and opened her eyes. Above her, a spotty ceiling sporting a few cracks. Beneath her, a rough texture which she recognized as Snape’s sitting-room sofa. Oh no! She hadn’t actually fainted like some Victorian dimwit, had she?

Deeply embarrassed, she lay quite still and dared not to move. Instead, she concentrated on the voices which sounded far away and muffled. After a while, she was able to discern them.

“… must have gotten in by the back door.” It was Snape’s, still sounding laboured, yet silky as ever. “I usually have it protected, but … something got in the way.”

Yeah. An exploding cauldron. Elena winced. She could have slapped herself.

“I hope you realize how lucky you’ve been, Severus.” It was the voice of the kindly looking wizard.

“I do.” The usual sourness was back. At least, Snape appeared to be alright.

“Hate to say ‘I told you so’, Professor”, another voice chimed in, probably that of Shacklebolt. “But I _did_ warn you, didn’t I?”

“You did.” Snape’s tone was chilling. “And I’m usually very well able to look after myself. This was … an accident.”

“Good thing the girl was around.”

Elena couldn’t quite make out who had said that.

An uncomfortable silence ensued.

“Who is she, anyway?”

“A neighbour.”

“She one of us?”

“Yes.”

So she only needed to pass out in order to hear Snape pay her some kind of thwarted compliment. Elena decided that it was stupid to pretend to be out of it any longer. She yanked herself to an upright position.

“Oh, hello. Welcome back.” The kindly looking wizard had spoken. He was standing by the fireplace, arms crossed, smirking. She smiled back at him weakly. Four pairs of eyes were on Elena. Beside her on the couch sat the third man in the group of Ministry officials that she had let in by the door. This one was still very young, almost a boy, with black unruly hair and a pair of glasses behind which startling green eyes took her in curiously.

“I think introductions would be in order”, said the kind wizard by the fireplace, “don’t you, Severus?”

Snape was back to his usual scowl. The bloody gash had disappeared from his forehead, undoubtedly by some magical means. He stood by the window, leaning against the wall and holding himself very upright. Elena could only imagine what it must cost him, but she knew him well enough by now to guess that he didn’t want his visitors to see him in bad shape.

“Of course”, he said stiffly. “May I present my neighbour, Miss Elena Horwath.” For the fraction of a second his black eyes held hers, then he jerked his head towards the burly wizard with the ornate cap. “This is Mr Kingsley Shacklebolt, our present Minister of Magic … Mr Remus Lupin who is currently working for the Ministry, as well …” By this, he meant the kind wizard who winked at her. “And this …”, Snape indicated the boy, but strangely he managed to do so without looking at him at all; if anything, the scowl on his face deepened, “… this is Mr Harry Potter.” Now Snape addressed the group. “Which, if I may add, will hardly impress Miss Horwath as she is foreign.”

What the hell did he mean by that? Why would the boy impress anyone?

“Oh yeah?” The wizard named Lupin pushed himself away from the fireplace and came towards her. “Where are you from?”

“Vienna”, she replied. Her voice was hoarse. “Austria.”

“Beautiful city”, said Lupin. He smiled, but as before, Elena noticed how sad and worn-out he looked. Of the few wizards she had encountered, a lot looked like that, Ollivander being another example. Elena wondered why that was. “I went there a couple of years ago”, Lupin went on. “I bet you can dance a mean waltz?”

“Yeah, and my Dad’s a Lipizzaner”, she answered as she often did when confronted with stereotypes about her nationality, but in the same moment she regretted it since it might have come over as arrogant. Lupin, however, gave quite a hearty laugh.

“Did he teach you to mess up Death Eaters like that?” Shacklebolt asked her, grinning. “He looked really bad, what kind of spell did you use?”

“Brute force.” It sounded hardly credible with her voice still shaky and not rising above a whisper.

“Really?” Now it was the Potter boy speaking. “You _hit_ him?”

“I have six cousins”, Elena explained. “All boys.”

The men chuckled, except for Snape whose face was once more unreadable.

“Looks like Professor Snape here owes you one”, Shacklebolt said amiably. “You saved his life.”

Elena looked down at her hands. She couldn’t bring herself to meet Snape’s gaze. To her surprise, she realized that her fingers were still trembling. She heard her surly teacher in all things magic clear his throat.

“Lupin, maybe you’d be kind enough to take Miss Horwath home? She lives just across the street.”

“Of course.” Lupin stretched out his hand to Elena. “Are you alright again?”

“Ja, ja”, she said, embarrassed, and let him pull her up from the couch. Suddenly, something that had been lurking at the back of her mind ever since she had woken up occurred to her. “What happened to the two … guys?”

“They’re safely packed up and ready to go to the Ministry dungeons”, Kingsley Shacklebolt assured her earnestly. “They won’t bother you anymore.”

Elena exhaled sharply. Dungeons. Great.

Lupin lay a hand on her shoulder and made to steer her out of the sitting room. She nodded politely to the Minister and the Potter boy. Shyly and very quickly, she let her eyes travel towards Snape. The mask that was his face looked back at her. The curt nod he gave was almost imperceptible.

Well. It would have to do for a ‘Thank you’. Considering that this was Severus Snape, it was probably as good as it would get.

 

* * *

 

The night was quiet and carried a breeze. After the heat of the recent two weeks, it was a relief. The moon was out, the brightest light falling unto the streets due to all the smashed lamps. Not yet a full moon, though. Thank Goodness, he would have missed a treat.

Remus Lupin walked quietly, hands folded behind his back, not saying a word. Only after a while did he glance aside and took in the girl beside him who walked in silence as well, her head down. She seemed thoughtful. A little angry, too. Her dark brows were knit tightly together. But maybe it was just the shock.

The walk was a short one, her house was in fact very close by. A copy of Severus’ abode, but Lupin had a sense that what was inside would be entirely different. She led the way towards her front door, obviously expecting him to come, then rummaged for her keys in the handbag she had insisted on retrieving from the cellar, but before she stuck the key into the lock she turned around abruptly, meeting his eyes. “Would you like to come in?”

Why not. Indulge his curiosity a bit. Take his mind off other things. After all, you didn’t every day meet a woman in the company of Severus Snape. No doubt, Kingsley and Harry would not miss the opportunity of quizzing the man for a while now that he had called them in, so he had time. He also had the distinct sense that she didn’t want to be alone just yet.

As he had expected, the sitting room was squashy. It also looked as if an old lady lived in it. However, the disarray of books, CDs and pieces of clothing scattered all over belonged to a young woman. She picked up a few items to make space on the couch and the glass table beside it and asked him straight out if he wanted wine. He said yes. It would make him sleepy and with any luck, he would have a dreamless night.

She poured the wine, turned on some music. He had heard the song somewhere before, probably on the radio. The singer proclaimed that he would try not to breathe.

The wine was red, dry and strong, tasting of berries. It occurred to him that the last woman he had drunk wine with had been Tonks. The realization gave him the usual stab. Not now, he told himself. Store it for later. These days, a proper organization of the mind was paramount to him.

“Thank you very much for coming with me”, she said after they had sat down. “I’m glad to have company for a little while longer.”

“I hope you feel better”, he said sincerely.

“It was a bad day for me”, she explained with a half-smile. “I was worn out to begin with, hardly ate anything, and the heat …”

“Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed about fainting. You saved a man’s life today.”

“Beginner’s luck”, she murmured.

“Was it the first nose you smashed?”

“Actually yes. I did, however, knock my cousin’s teeth out.”

“Well, I think you did a fine job. With the Death Eater, I mean, not the cousin.”

She turned a blank face to him. “Mr Lupin, could you please explain to me what a Death Eater is?”

He looked at her astonished. Surely, even Austrian witches had heard of Death Eaters?

“’Death Eaters’ is the self-coined name of the followers of who used to be known as Lord Voldemort”, he said quietly.

“Lord Voldemort”, she repeated, dead-pan. Something twitched around the corners of her mouth. “Would it surprise you very much if I told you that I never heard of him?”

“That would surprise me very much indeed”, he replied. “Severus said you were a witch.”

She gave a bitter laugh. “Ah, but he didn’t tell you that I’ve only been a witch for about six weeks, did he?”

Lupin’s face lightened up. Now things were beginning to fall into place. He had wondered about her. Her appearance, her obviously non-existent reaction to Harry (usually, women her age issued delighted squeals at the sight of him) and this sitting room which was comfortable but also very Muggle. “That’s unusual”, he observed with a warm smile.

“Yes. My life has become very unusual altogether. Particularly tonight.”

“I can only imagine.” He considered her for a while. “How do you know Severus?”

“I wouldn’t say I _know_ him”, she countered. “I wonder if anyone knows him …”

She had a point there.

“… but as you can see, he’s a neighbour”, she continued, “and we sort of ran into each other. – He told me what I am.”

Remus wanted to say something, but changed his mind. He also supressed a smile. So Severus had found a witch. Again.

Shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts, Remus Lupin had come into a rare privilege. It concerned certain memories which Harry Potter had shown him in Dumbledore’s Pensieve. As far as he knew, he was one of the very few people who had seen them except for Harry himself. And although Lupin had been beside himself with grief and despair at the time, what he had seen had deeply touched him. Plus, it had opened up a whole new perspective on Severus Snape.

Remus considered what Elena Horwath had told him and put two and two together. “He’s been teaching you?”

She nodded. “He has. But like I said, it’s only been going on for a few weeks. There is still so much that I don’t know about your world. – Death Eaters. Lord Vol-de-whatever …”

“And you never heard of Harry Potter”, Remus concluded.

“The boy who came with you?” She shook her head. “I thought he was some kind of Ministry apprentice.”

That made him laugh. “He is in fact doing a stint with the Ministry right now”, he clarified. “But believe me, he is by no means an apprentice. He may be young, but he is a very capable wizard. In fact, in our world he’s kind of a hero.”

She frowned, but said nothing. The miffed look was back on her face. He could guess what she was thinking.

“I reckon so far Severus has been your only link to the magical world?” he hazarded.

“Yes”, she confirmed. “And I’m grateful. He’s been … well, quite patient actually, considering that I make cauldrons explode.”

Again, he had to bite down on a laugh. “He’s known as a very strict teacher”, he explained. “Hogwarts students used to live in fear of him.”

“I totally believe you”, she said, grinning. He guessed that she was actually a cheerful person, always ready to smile and laugh if the circumstances allowed it. “But he’s good, I think. I learn a lot. And yet …”

“He’s granting you only limited access to the magical world?”

She swayed her head from one side to the other. “I wouldn’t quite say that. He took me to Diagon Alley, after all. Paid for my wand. And my cat.”

Remus had noticed the black cat that had snug into the house with them. It now sat on the headrest of the sofa, seemingly listening to their conversation. “But he never told you about the wizarding war?”

Now her eyes widened. “The wizarding war?” she repeated, taken aback. “What was that about?”

“It’s a long story”, Remus said. “And a complicated one at that. However, everyone in our world knows about it.”

“Then why didn’t he tell me?”

Lupin pondered for a while before he answered. “It may have something to do with Severus’ own role in it”, he finally replied. “Also, I guess he’s not a storyteller.”

“Certainly not.” The bitterness was back in her voice. “I’m not allowed to ask him personal questions. I don’t mind that. After what happened tonight, however …”

He knew what she meant. “You have a right to know”, he told her.

“Fat chance”, she mumbled.

“There are other ways of learning more about our world, you know. You don’t have to rely on Severus Snape.”

“Yes”, she nodded fervently. “I already made up my mind to go to Diagon Alley on my own one of these days. It can’t go on like this.” She stared thoughtfully into mid-air for a couple of seconds. Then she looked up at him. “Do you know him well?”

“Severus? We were at school together. Same year, in fact. However, like you said before, there are probably not a lot of people who really know him.”

“I’m not surprised. The man’s the Berlin wall, only in his case, the Communists prevail.”

He liked her dead-pan comments. In this, she was quite similar to her teacher. Lupin wondered if she realized it. He decided to change the subject. “Well, Miss Horwath …”

“Please, call me Elena.”

“Alright, Elena. – I just wanted to say that you were very brave today, especially considering that you have only been a practicing witch for such a short time. You acted quickly and effectively. Severus has made that quite clear.”

Amused, he remembered how Snape had spoken about her as long as she had still been out on his couch. ‘Determined’, he had called her, ‘doing the right thing’, which was probably as close to recognition as anyone would ever get with Severus. He had also noticed, however, that he had become more reserved after she had woken up.

She looked Lupin in the eyes again – she was all about eye contact, as if she was able to look into a person’s soul by it – and her face had brightened up a bit. He realized that Snape’s recognition meant something to her. He also realized that she cared for the man, though he didn’t know what to think of it. Be glad? Amused? Or pity her?

“I had to do something”, she explained now. “He was completely out of it. I guess I was very, very lucky.”

“Luck is not enough in order to cast a stunning spell that blows a fully developed wizard off his feet”, Lupin said reasonably. “You must have quite a bit of magic in you.”

She grinned. “Don’t you think it was more because you wizards don’t expect anyone to use their fists?”

“That may have been part of it”, he conceded. “All the same, I don’t think that this was a bad day for you. In fact, you may find out that it was important. You took a big step today in your life as a witch. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

While she cast down her eyes with a glowing face, he downed the rest of his wine. Slowly, he got up from the couch, feeling a twinge of pity. He would have liked to learn more about her. “I am very sorry, Elena, but I have to go now. It’s late and my little boy will be up by sunrise.”

“Of course”, she said and quickly got up, as well. “It’s been nice talking to you. Although, now that I come to think of it, we only talked about myself, not the least bit about you.”

He looked at her smiling face. She was quite pretty, actually. Not the kind of beauty that glared you in the face, but rather the type that snugged in by the back door and hit you hard when you least expected it. He made a spontaneous decision. “If you take that trip to Diagon Alley, please let me know. We could meet and I promise I will tell you more about our world. As a father, I’ve had some practice in telling stories.”

“I’d love that”, she said lively, but then her face fell. “How do I reach you?”

He winked. “I’ll get in touch with you. You’ll see.”

She was the kind that liked surprises because her eyes immediately started to dance. “Alright, Mr Lupin …”

“Remus. Please.”

She accompanied him to the door, like the polite British lady that she wasn’t. He wished her a good and peaceful night and they exchanged their good-byes. When he stepped onto the street again, Kingsley and Harry were already waiting.

“Ready to go?” Kingsley asked.

Lupin nodded, smiling. “Quite a night, huh?”

“Did you see the _beard_?” Harry breathed, still brimming with excitement.

“Yes, but he’s still very much Severus Snape, in spite of it.”

“And what was _she_ all about?” Harry wanted to know.

“She’s a remarkable girl”, Remus replied mysteriously. “She knows good wine.”

“Yeah, but what is she doing with Snape?”

“Or Snape with her?” amended Kingsley.

Good questions, both of them. Remus frowned a little. A couple of things were going through his mind right now, positive and negative and some that he wasn’t able to figure out at all.

“That remains to be seen”, he said and led the way to the next convenient Disapparating spot.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	11. Message from a Dead Man

**Message from a Dead Man**

 

Severus Snape sighed to the jambs of his back door. The alarm finally worked. It had been easier to set than he had expected. As frequently happens to intelligent people who study a lot, he had overthought. What a waste of time and … well, not just time, actually.

Strolling back into the hallway, he stared out of the small window by the door. A torrential rain bore down on Spinner’s End, enveloping the streets in a grey veil. The downpour was the bottom line of the past few weeks with their sweltering heat. Now England was back to being England and with the usual dreariness of the neighbourhood restored, the excessive summer weather seemed like a distant dream.

Snape peered across the street to Elena’s house. In spite of the short distance, he could hardly see it due to the rain blurring its outlines. He hadn’t seen its inhabitant, either, for days, in fact, and he was glad. He told himself that he was giving her time to process what had happened that night. At the same time he was well aware that he didn’t want to face her right now. She would ask him questions, of course, he couldn’t imagine that she would let the incident pass without comment. And he didn’t know what to tell her, how to explain. The slight twinge of annoyance that she hadn’t come over on her own accord he tried to ignore as good as he could.

While he was watching the rain whipping the street that led up to his house, he noticed a dark shape materializing near the fence. With a feeling of apprehension, he checked for his wand in the pocket of his robes. The figure, heavily hooded and carrying something, came closer. Only at the last moment did Severus recognize who it was and he gave an exasperated moan. However, he opened the front door without hesitation.

Remus Lupin greeted him with a good-natured grin. “Man, it pours”, he remarked.

“So I’ve noticed”, Snape replied dispiritedly. “Have you come to chat about the weather?”

“Are _you_ bored?” Lupin shot back. “I calculated at least ten minutes to get you to open the door.”

Snape didn’t credit this with an answer. Instead, he stepped back and let the man in.

Having entered the hallway, Lupin shook himself, sending a spray of drops from his coat all across the floorboards. He probably didn’t realize it, but he behaved very canine – or lupine – at times. However, Snape harboured no illusions on the state of his house and reckoned that this was sort of a wash.

“How are you?” Remus asked and – you had to give him that – he made it sound as if he cared. “Quite recovered from your little mishap?”

“What’s that supposed to be? Pep talk?” Snape’s voice was scathing.

But Lupin remained unfazed. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have asked someone who rose from the dead how he’s doing. Incidents like that the other night probably don’t even tickle you these days.”

“Don’t be daft”, Snape snapped. He pointed towards the sitting room by way of a question and Lupin accepted the invitation.

Shortly afterwards they were sitting facing each other in the gloomy room with its rows of books lining the walls and the cracks in the ceiling. Snape didn’t offer anything – he was an ill-practiced host – and Lupin hadn’t expected it. To keep the conversation going, Remus set what he had brought with him on the coffee table between them. It was a parcel, wrapped in brownish paper covered in water spots. “This is for you”, he announced.

Snape merely raised his eyebrows. “What is this?”

“I hope you’ll find it interesting”, Lupin said and smiled kindly at the scowling man. “You see, a few days after the Battle of Hogwarts something quite extraordinary happened.”

The mention of the Battle of Hogwarts made Snape remember something. It gave him a little jolt. He hadn’t thought of it the last time he had seen Lupin. He opened his mouth, but the right words didn’t come. “What d’you mean?” he asked instead.

“A chamber opened”, Lupin explained. “In Dumbledore’s office. Well, your office. Or Minerva’s, really.”

“A chamber?”

“It appears the old man installed it. Resourceful as ever. I guess he put a spell on it so that it would open only if Voldemort was defeated and everything went according to plan.”

Snape said nothing, but merely stared at the parcel. He had an idea where this was going.

“We found all kinds of stuff in that chamber”, Lupin went on. “Heirlooms, mostly. He was very well prepared.”

“He knew he was going to die”, said Snape, looking down on the spotty carpet.

An uncomfortable silence ensued until Lupin cleared his throat. “Well, in any case – this is for you. It had your name on it.” He patted the parcel. “We would have given it to you earlier, but since you bolted right after your … mysterious resurrection …”

“I didn’t bolt”, Snape hissed sharply.

“I wasn’t criticizing”, Lupin said quickly, raising his hands defensively. “I’ve never risen from the dead, I wouldn’t know what it feels like.” He gave a cunning half-smile. “Though, since we’re on the subject – you _could_ have given the Ministry a little more help in finding the Death Eaters that went underground. Wouldn’t have hurt. And maybe what happened here the other night could have been avoided.”

Snape snorted. “You’re being naïve about the resourcefulness of Death Eaters.”

“Maybe. But you aren’t.”

“I’ve no idea where they have all gone to”, Snape stated coldly, “or where they might turn up next. Which, by the way, is _exactly_ why I’m holed up here.”

“Protected by spells you keep forgetting to set”, Lupin finished amiably.

“ _Keep_ _forgetting_?” Snape hissed. “I was distracted that day because this infernal woman …”

“Don’t blame her for your shortcomings”, Lupin cut him short and his scathing tone was quite able to match Snape’s. “Just admit for a change that you can’t have your eyes on everything – as much as you’d like to believe it – and that there are things beyond your control.”

Again Snape opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. Instead, he remembered what he should have said earlier. “I’m sorry for your loss, by the way”, he murmured stiffly.

Lupin looked up in surprise. The wind was out of his sails. “Thank you”, he said quietly.

Another silence, but this time both men held on to it as if to a wooden plank in a stormy sea. Hadn’t there been this uneasiness between them – forged by past experiences that had never been explicitly discussed – they might have acknowledged that they were both victims of war, broken and traumatized. As things were, however, they stared at each other doubtfully across the coffee table.

“Have you come all the way to bring me this?” Snape asked after a fashion, jerking his chin towards the parcel.

“That, too”, said Lupin with a nod. “I also thought that you might want to know about what we found out on your intruders. We’ve been questioning them for the past few days.”

Snape leaned forward. “Yes?” His eyes were alert now.

“Their names are Aubrey and Kerr. Ever heard of them?”

“Rings a bell. Low ranks, if I remember correctly.”

“Mercenaries, as far as we could ascertain”, Lupin confirmed. “Whatever they do, they do it for money. You know what that means.”

“They were commissioned.”

“Yes. Which again means that whoever is behind the attack is still out there somewhere.”

Snape considered this, fiddling with his cuffs. “So it’s not over”, he concluded darkly.

“I daresay no.”

Good thing he had set the alarm. After the attack he had half made up his mind not to do it after all, believing the worst to be over. However, an instinct schooled by all those years in dark pursuits had dissuaded him. The two thugs that had invaded his house had been rough and ready for any kind of brutality, no doubt, but Severus believed that none of the two had been sophisticated enough to indulge in writing parchments in blood.

“Those messages you mentioned that night”, Lupin began as if he had read Snape’s thoughts, “do you still have them?”

By way of an answer, Snape got up and walked over to his desk. He unlocked the secret compartment and took out the rolled-up parchments. There were five of them by now. Beneath them, the fragment of Lily’s photograph appeared. He allowed himself a brief look into her bright eyes, then slammed the drawer shut again. He handed Lupin the messages without saying anything and sat down while the Ministry man went through them, a frown on his forehead.

“Very imaginative”, he murmured.

“Cheap attempts at instilling fear”, Snape replied with a shrug.

Remus considered him thoughtfully. Was he really as untouched as he wanted to make everyone believe? Sure enough, Severus Snape looked as cool as a cucumber, his face impassive. Then again there was probably no one Lupin knew who was as apt at hiding their feelings as the man sitting opposite from him. It was, after all, the ability that had allowed him to stick it out in the role of double-agent for such a long time and, ultimately though miraculously, to survive.

“Be that as it may”, he said, “writing messages in blood indicates a certain … determination. Anger, too, along with an unhealthy degree of sadism. If I were you, I’d be very, very careful.”

“I am”, murmured Snape. For once, it didn’t sound unfriendly.

“Not just for your own sake”, Lupin added. “I’m also thinking of your friend.”

“She is my student”, Snape declared sharply.

“I know. I had an interesting conversation with her that night when you asked me to take her home.”

“I’m not surprised”, sneered Snape. “She has the female disease. Verbal diarrhoea.”

“Yeah, but in a nice way. She’s intelligent and empathic, I think she’ll make a formidable witch.” Lupin scanned the other man’s face for a reaction. “Pretty, too”, he added.

Snape’s reply came like a whip. “I shouldn’t have thought you’d have an eye for that so soon after …” He broke off, realizing what he had been about to say.

Lupin let it pass. “You’ve certainly done a good thing there. Taking her on, I mean, and teaching her. Not to mention that she already proved very useful to you.”

“That was dumb luck.”

“Maybe. But where would you have been without her?”

Snape bit down on commenting that without her abysmal performance at potions, things would have played out differently in the first place. It wasn’t quite fair, after all, as he had to admit to himself.

“One thing, though”, Lupin continued, “do you really think it wise to leave her in the dark like that? She doesn’t even know what Death Eaters are.”

“I guess you wasted no time elucidating her?”

Lupin shook his head. “The way I see it, that’s your job.”

“Why would I tell her?” Snape said icily. “The war is over. The Dark Lord is gone. And what happened that night was an accident which I will know to avoid in the future.”

“I already told you, you can’t control everything”, Lupin objected. “And do you realize in what danger you put her just by making her come to your house on a regular basis, knowing that there are threats out against you?”

Snape said nothing. He hadn’t looked at it that way.

“In taking her on, you took over responsibility for her”, the other man went on relentlessly. “Mind you, she seems very dedicated to what you are doing. She’s all set to become a witch so it makes no sense not to continue teaching her. But you should tell her more about our world, particularly with regard to recent events. She has a right to know the nature of the sphere which she is about to enter.”

“I don’t see the relevance”, Snape replied curtly.

“You don’t?” Remus’ face became a mask of irony. “She could easily have been killed, along with you. I think you know that very well. Your problem is that you don’t want to talk about yourself.”

“What does that have to do with it?” Snape objected, but it sounded feeble.

“Do I really have to tell you? As you wish. – Telling her the whole story – about Voldemort, the Death Eaters and so on – you would inevitably have to inform her on your own role. But you don’t want that, do you? You don’t want her to know about your past, about your former affiliations. And so you keep her isolated, establishing yourself as her only link to the magical world. You’re exerting censorship.”

“Now that’s a bit rich!” Snape protested. “I certainly don’t want to _isolate_ her.”

“Not intentionally, maybe”, Lupin conceded. “Just think about it.” He resolved to drop the subject, having said what he had to say on the matter. “By the way”, he went on, looking the man in the eyes, “I didn’t have the chance to say it the other night, but it was very brave what you did. You know. For Lily. I can’t even imagine what it must have cost you.”

Snape stared at him. He clearly hadn’t expected this. Slowly, he rose a defensive hand. However, Lupin wasn’t in the mood of sparing him too much.

“I’m saying this on Harry’s behalf, as well. He would have told you himself, but you barely acknowledged him the other night. He is very grateful.”

“Are you shaping up to become Potter’s new mentor?” Snape had recovered and found his most scathing tone.

“We are close”, Lupin said. “Of his father’s friends, I’m the last one standing. And what with spending a lot of time at the Weasley’s …”

Snape snorted, but Lupin paid no attention.

“Also you may know that Harry is my son’s godfather.”

He hadn’t known. It seemed that life had picked up its course again, even in the wizarding world. The dead had been buried and the next generation was already waiting to take over, reared on twisted legends and foolish notions. “Well, I hope that works out well.”

“It will”, Lupin said confidently and rose from his seat. “Listen, before I go... Kingsley is prepared to detail two Aurors to watch your house. They will be discreet and it will give you privacy as well as protection. I know you are going to tell me you don’t need it”, he added quickly since Severus had already opened his mouth, “but how should we explain to the public that we let the unsung hero of the wizarding war be slaughtered in his sleep?”

“I’m not going to be slaughtered in my sleep!” Snape hissed, ignoring the chill running down his spine.

“Of course not”, Lupin said amiably. “Still we hope that it will let you rest easier. And give you more peace to instruct your student.”

Snape merely glowered, but he got up in order to accompany his guest to the door.

“Have fun with your parcel”, said Lupin as they crossed the hallway. “Mine was quite … entertaining. Well, you knew Dumbledore, always up for a joke. – By the way: any plans of returning to Hogwarts?”

“No.” Snape’s answer sounded finite, but then Lupin knew him well enough.

“Maybe better that way”, he admitted matter-of-factly. “The girls might swoon.”

The usual scowl answered him and Lupin countered it with a twinkle in his eyes before he said his good-bye and left the dismal little house at Spinner’s End …

 

* * *

 

After Lupin had gone, Severus proceeded directly to his sitting room. He didn’t want to allow himself to think about the things the man had told him. It would only make him furious. And there was a parcel waiting for him.

He sat down in front of it and tore off the brown paper. It was a strange feeling, rapt anticipation. When had he last had it? As a child, maybe? The package was big enough to hold, for instance, a Pensieve. He’d really want that, had always wanted it. However, he doubted that it would ever be removed from Hogwarts and he turned out to be right.

The wooden box that came to light he opened with a simple spell. No Pensieve. But a number of books – an ancient edition of _Merlin’s Code_ at the top, as he noted with a racing heart – and smaller boxes. There was also a rolled-up parchment, its sigil showing a phoenix. He broke it carefully.

 

_Dear Severus,_

_When you read this, it means that Lord Voldemort has been successfully defeated and that you are still alive. Please accept my sincerest congratulations. It is, frankly speaking, more than I dared to hope. You will not resent me for writing this as I know you don’t like to be mollycoddled. Moreover, much as I, you were always well aware of the dangers your work entailed and I got the distinct feeling over the years that you didn’t really care whether you lived or died and that, in fact, life might be the greater burden to you._

_I am not going to bother you with praise of your bravery. You won’t know what to do with it, even though you well deserve it. Also, you have enough confidence in your abilities – if not in much else – to be able to place the right value upon your actions. What I hope most sincerely is that you have found redemption and closure._

_It is no small feat to forgive oneself. In fact, it may be one of the most difficult things there are and I guess you are the kind of man that would rather take on manipulating one of the darkest wizards our world has ever seen and putting yourself in mortal danger than battling your own inner demons. Yet the true battle is always within ourselves. We may externalize it, fight it on the outside, and if we are successful, we may even change – but only if we let it touch us inside._

_Life is a gift, Severus. The greatest mistake most people make is to believe that life owes us anything – recognition, power, happiness, love, or whatever – and there lies the root of all problems. I’m not wisecracking here, but speaking from my own (sometimes bitter) experience. It is not our place to expect anything from life. Much rather, life expects something from us, specifically to make the best of it, never mind the circumstances into which we are born and never mind the catastrophes that befall us. Happiness is nothing but a fleeting moment for which we are to look out in order to recognize and savour it._

_In our many conversations throughout the years, you liked to remind me that life is not fair. This is entirely correct. It isn’t and we shouldn’t expect it to be. Rather, we should be grateful that we have it, that we can turn our faces to the sun or breathe a refreshing night air. To the peaceful mind, this is all that’s required for happiness._

_You may not want to live, Severus. You may resent the harshness with which life has treated you. However, did you ever stop to think and to recognize that it is exactly this harshness that has made you so brave and strong? It is an old chestnut – and not merely the blabbering of a demented old man – that destiny gives us nothing more than what we can bear. If this is true, you can bear very much indeed which is exactly the reason why you have been so sorely tested._

_So if you have been given life, I’d implore you not to reject it. Do not dwell on its harshness but endeavour to become more sensitive to its joys. Think not of Lily Evans’ death, but of the privilege of knowing her and what she did for you by opening up your heart. Love is, after all, not the merit of those who feel it, but of those who are capable of instilling it in us._

_I can see you rolling your eyes already, so I shall quickly come to an end. However, this is supposed to be an heirloom of some kind, so I think instructive words are in order, particularly given my considerable age. I hope that one day you will be able to leave this life – as I will do, and through_ your _hand if all goes well – with the feeling that you valued its gift to a reasonable extent instead of spoiling it with expectations. Please know that in spite of an uneasy start, I have come to appreciate you as an ally and a friend, and in fact you have proven to me time and again that it’s not always the easy people we love the most._

_You will find in this box a number of items that may prove useful to you. I know you really want the Pensieve, but something tells me that by the time you read this it may have become a piece of history. However, the path of destiny is a long and winding road, so cheer up, one never knows what awaits._

_I wish you a full and happy life,_

_Yours sincerely_

_Albus Dumbledore_

_p.s.: In case you are still wondering how Harry Potter and Hermione Granger got Sirius Black and a certain hippogriff out of trouble by the end of Harry’s third year, please refer to the carved case contained herein._

Snape let the letter sink onto his lap. He was seriously miffed. Another talking-to, as if Lupin’s hadn’t been enough. Also, he had expected something less sombre from Dumbledore, and thinking this he realized that he missed the old man’s jokes, no matter how often he had feigned exasperation over them.

His eyes prickled. He had to blink a few times. Then he went on to explore the box. There were more books, old and visibly of considerable worth. He also found an item looking a little bit like a nut cracker, though what purpose it served Snape had no idea. He worked its mechanism for a few times, but it seemed to have no effect at all. Unfortunately, there was no label of any kind. With a dispirited sigh, he gave up.

Finally, at its bottom, he found the carved case Dumbledore had mentioned. He pried it open, setting eyes on a glittering item which looked like an hourglass attached to a golden chain. He knew exactly what it was and he moaned in frustration. Of course! Why hadn’t he guessed?

For almost five minutes he was angry with the old man. He might have feigned appreciation, friendship even, but really he hadn’t told him _anything_. The Potter boy had always been his favourite, the golden prince, and Dumbledore hadn’t stopped short of fooling others in order to protect the tyke.

Then, however, Snape had an idea. It came to him from nowhere but he immediately saw how it might solve a range of problems in one swoop. Also, it made him smile a little.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	12. A New Student and A Gift

**A New Student and A Gift**

 

Elena stood in the deserted ballroom, playing around with the stereo and wearing a frown on her face. She ignored her hurting feet. They were part of her life and apart from that she was far from being done for the day.

The morning had been stressful. Two school classes had alternately frequented the spacious room, shuffling their feet, yawning and paying no attention. Teaching them English waltz and cha-cha had almost used up her entire resources of nerves, but she had soldiered through it and even given the students a treat by topping the lesson off with a jive. They had liked that because the dance was fast and energetic. It had also made them tired and Elena had made up her mind that she would from now on start lessons with it to give them the opportunity to blow of steam.

All in all, she was grateful to have so much on her plate. It allowed her to distract herself. From that fateful night and the fear she had felt. From the embarrassment with the exploded cauldron and her fainting. From the realization that she knew bloody nothing about the magical world. And most of all, from Severus Snape with whom she was very angry indeed.

He hadn’t got in touch with her even once since the attack. In fact, from where she was standing it looked as if he ignored and evaded her. She didn’t understand his behaviour. After all, she had saved his scrawny ass! Didn’t that warrant a ‘Thank you’ or at least some sort of acknowledgement? Obviously not.

She must have been mad to think that she might, well, fancy the man. How could anyone in their right mind fancy such a cold and bitter sourpuss? No, by now she was confident that it had only been a foolish notion, some kind of transference, perhaps, like when you fell for your psychologist during therapy. As Lupin had correctly remarked, Snape was her only link to the magical world. She had been dependent on him and that had made her sentimental. But no longer. She would see to it.

During the last few days, Elena had granted herself a reprieve from her magical studies. It had been stupid to throw herself into it like that. Of course, she wanted to continue. However, thinking of it logically she had to face the fact that probably she would never become a real witch. She was too old. Her life was already well under way and she knew where her talents were. She must concentrate on her university courses, wake up from her lethargy and advance her future. Also, she needed money. Anna’s medical bills were substantial and it had always been an understanding between Elena and her aunt that in exchange for letting her live in her house, the younger woman would support the older one. And wasn’t it quite a privilege to be able to earn her keep with something she liked doing as much as dancing? She had to focus on that.

However, she couldn’t do it all. A day simply didn’t have enough hours for her to accommodate her studies, her job and magic on top of that. She had to be reasonable and do what was most useful to her. And in fact, an opportunity had come around which was just too good to miss.

Two days ago, her boss – the intrepid Sue – had told her of a new assignment.

“I know you’re busy and you’re probably going to kill me”, Sue had introduced the subject. “But I think you are best suited for the job. Listen to me first before you say no.”

The proposition had been straightforward enough. A new student who wanted one-on-one lessons to learn as much in as little time as possible. “He says he’s recently divorced”, Sue had explained, “and since the wife never wanted to dance, he now wants to catch up on what he’s been missing. To charm the ladies, I guess. He’s quite a handsome guy …”

“Why me?” Elena had demanded, but not without enthusiasm. In fact, at that point she had already guessed that it was exactly what she needed.

“He’s from Eastern Europe. His English is a bit funny, but he mentioned that he speaks German reasonably well. I thought that you might have a few things in common.”

From the way the English were talking, you might get the impression that they were not part of Europe at all. Awkward island monkeys, all of them. They believed the Continentals to be a mysterious and uncouth clique, best to be left in each other’s company. (At the periphery of her mind, Elena was dimly aware that she was projecting her misgivings concerning Snape onto his fellow countrymen.) However, Elena had quickly warmed to the idea. She liked Eastern Europeans. As an Austrian, she was born at the gates to the east and her ancestry was Slovenian on her mother’s side. From her grandmother and Anna, she had even learned some portions of the language. Unlike many of her slavophobic countrymen, the culture and language of the East were intuitive to her. She liked the deep thinkers it brought forth and she liked vodka.

Screw Snape and his Fire Whiskey!

 

* * *

 

Sue had been right – the man was exceptionally handsome. A bit old maybe – Elena estimated him to be in his late thirties or early forties – but he had kept himself in good shape. Tall, slender and muscular, with the classic Slavonic features, prominent cheekbones, sensual lips and heavily lidded eyes. His hair was fashionably tousled and he wore a goatee, along with designer jeans and an impeccably ironed black shirt. He was Polish, introduced himself as Pawel Komarek and explained to her that his surname translated to ‘little gnat’.

“I shall be the literal bug on your shoulder for the next weeks”, he announced to her in heavily accented English after he had gallantly kissed her hand, “and I expect you to teach me everything you know.”

He made her laugh, for the first time in days. “I’ll do my best”, she promised. “But let me warn you, I’ve been doing this for more than ten years.”

“Even better. It means you have a lot to give.”

They started right away. Already in the first hour, Pawel Komarek proved to be a talented student. He quickly learned the basic steps and he had a good feeling for the rhythm which, alas, was rare in men. Halfway through, he started talking in German to her. Elena was surprised at how much she liked it. She wasn’t usually aware that she missed her mother tongue and not having to think before she said anything. His German was excellent and his jokes came off particularly well.

When they were finished, Elena was in a very relaxed mood. In fact, she felt light and content, a state that she had sorely missed during the last weeks. It confirmed to her that it was the right thing to focus on her ‘real’ life, not to give it up for magic. In addition, she was able to make good money out of Mr Komarek.

“ _Wir werden uns gut verstehen_ ”, he confidently informed her when they left the studio. ‘We will be getting on fine.’

She couldn’t help laughing. “You sound very sure of yourself.”

“I’m always sure of myself”, he explained with a scallywag grin. “So should you. You have every reason.”

“If you say so …”

“I mean it”, he claimed. “You are a very good teacher. And you are beautiful. – Mind you, I won’t say that again because I’m an old man and I don’t want you to think I’d come on to a young woman like that. If, however, you’d allow me to take you out to dinner one of these days, I’d be very delighted and would promise to be a consummate gentleman.”

She looked at him uncertainly. Was he _flirting_ with her? If he did, however, he was very respectful about it. It was a salve to her soul, she had to admit that. She had clearly spent too much time around gloom and abrasion, and resolved that she would enjoy her lessons with Komarek.

That evening she boarded the bus home with a swinging feeling inside her.

 

* * *

 

By the early evening, it was still raining. In fact, it hadn’t let up almost all day. Standing outside of Elena’s door, Severus Snape turned his face skyward and allowed himself to be sprinkled. It was a rare and peaceful moment, he almost felt at ease. Maybe that was what Dumbledore had meant. Finding happiness in the moment. But then, it might also be a bunch of baloney.

He jolted himself out of his reverie and knocked on her door. It was time to take her to task, to ask her straight out why she hadn’t come to his house in the past few days. He had every intention of reminding her how important it was to further her magical talents. He knew they were considerable. However, she would get nowhere with it if she didn’t allow them to develop under careful supervision.

He heard steps coming towards the door. So she was at home. Excellent. Unconsciously he squared his shoulders, preparing a little tirade in his mind, one which he would very much enjoy since, after all, he hadn’t ranted at anyone for days.

The door swung open. The expression of smugness on his face fell. It was not Elena standing in front of him but an old woman with carefully set smoke-grey hair, arched eyebrows and arresting dark-green eyes.

Drat.

The Muggle aunt.

“Good evening”, he said dispiritedly.

The woman gave him a brilliant smile. “Good evening. Mr Snape, isn’t it?”

He nodded, shifting uncomfortably.

“I remember you from when you were a boy”, the woman said.

He didn’t know what to do with this piece of information, so he cleared his throat. “I was hoping to speak to your niece.”

“She’s at her dancing school”, the aunt explained. “But I expect her to be back within the next half hour. – Would you like to come in?”

The old woman had already taken a step back and looked at him invitingly. Severus hesitated. He felt no inclination to indulge in polite chit-chat with an elderly lady, however, he didn’t see how he could say no. After all, she was a relative of Elena’s.

He gingerly stepped over the threshold. The hallway smelt of detergent and something flowery. The aunt continued to smile at him which he found unusual and a little upsetting.

“I’m really glad to be able to talk to you”, Anna Crawford intimated. “I know very well what you have done for me.”

Snape paused and looked at her doubtfully. Then he remembered. Of course, the blue vial. He considered the aunt. She looked frail, but seemed to be in full possession of her mental faculties, not at all someone who might mistake their own niece for an intruder. He felt pleased with himself. “I’m glad you are better”, he felt obliged to say while Mrs Crawford led the way to the sitting room.

“Not as glad as I am”, the woman laughed. “Believe me, it is a horrible thing to witness your own mind going. To have these moments of clarity that become ever shorter. At my age, dying is a concept that’s always present, but that was not the way I wanted to go.”

Like Elena she spoke with a slight accent, but her English was evidence of long years of practice, it came easily and fluently. “Would you like tea?” she asked.

Snape nodded and sat down in the armchair Mrs Crawford indicated. While the old lady busied herself in the kitchen, he felt at odds with the surroundings. This was a very Muggle environment. The low glass table by the sofa was scattered with books, most of them dealing with literature. They must be Elena’s. So that was how she spent her time. He would have a word with her about that.

“Ellie always leaves her things lying about”, Mrs Crawford called cheerfully from the kitchen. “I’m afraid she’s not very tidy. Still, I am glad to have her here. She has always been my favourite. And I’ve become very lonely since my Alec died.”

‘Her Alec’ must have been the husband. Severus didn’t remember him. He had never paid any attention to the Spinner’s End neighbourhood. Not knowing how to respond, he took one of the books and leaved through it. It was on linguistics, by one Ferdinand de Saussure. It seemed to be dealing with breaking down language into its most basic components. Why would anyone want to learn that?

A slip of paper fell out from between the pages and he caught it. It looked as if it had been ripped out of a notebook and was covered with Elena’s handwriting, all bows and squiggles. His eyes flew over the words.

_We shall not cease from exploration,_

_And the end of all our exploring_

_Will be to arrive where we started_

_And know the place for the first time.        (T.S. Eliot)_

 

Snape raised his eyebrows in surprise. That was pretty existential. He hadn’t guessed her happy-go-lucky interests to go in that direction.

Mrs Crawford came back with a tray laden with cups and a steaming pot. It occurred to Snape that maybe he should have offered help, seeing that her hands trembled. Well, too late. And if Mrs Crawford found fault with his behaviour, she didn’t let on.

“Are you still taking the p… the medicine?” he asked, attempting politeness.

“Yes. Three drops a day, undiluted.” Her eyes twinkled.

“You might take it down to two drops a day”, he suggested. “But by all means up the dose again if you start feeling … funny.”

She inclined her head and after she had poured the tea as well as offered him milk and sugar, both of which he declined, she sat down opposite of him. “Have I said how grateful I am to you?” she asked with a laugh.

“By implication”, he responded curtly.

“I hope you are aware that you could make a lot of money with your mingles”, Mrs Crawford remarked.

Snape sneered. He hated the word ‘mingles’. “I have no wish to do so”, he said. It had come out harshly, but the old woman didn’t seem to mind.

“I realize that”, she assured him. “And I won’t tell. – Tell me, Mr Snape, is that a talent you got from your mother?”

The question surprised him, even rattled him a bit, for reasons the old woman couldn’t possibly know about. “Yes”, he said cautiously.

“I remember her. Even spoke to her a few times. She was quite … formidable.”

Now, there was a euphemism.

“Is she still alive?” Mrs Crawford wanted to know.

“Yes. She lives in Ireland now. With her sister.”

“Oh, good. Nothing’s as reassuring as family, don’t you think?”

“Maybe.”

She tilted her head to one side and considered him. In fact, it was a long hard look that she gave him and it made Snape shift in his seat. He felt that she was trying to figure him out. Elena had the same kind of look on her face sometimes, speculative, probing. “You don’t need to be shy with me, Mr Snape”, she said suddenly. “I think I know very well what you are. You and your mother.”

“Really.” It was a scoff rather than a question.

“Really”, she replied with a hint of sarcasm. “You see, my family come from Slovenia. I was born there, on the banks of the Isonzo river. Of course, that used to be quite a theatre of battle during the First World War which is why we emigrated and ended up in Vienna. I was still a baby then, I don’t remember the old country. However, the stories my mother told me were always full of witches and wizards. Why, full of werewolves and vampires even! They weren’t fairy tales. My mother had no doubt that all this existed, that they were much more than superstitions.”

Snape took all this in with mild surprise. He had never met a Muggle that hadn’t reacted with either fear or denial where his world was concerned. “They hate us because they can’t accept that we exist”, his mother had told him time and again, furthering his amazement as to why she of all witches had married such a consummate Muggle as his father. At the same time, he was intrigued in spite of himself. He knew that Eastern Europe was full of magic and that it existed there in a far more wild and untamed form than in magical Britain with all its rules and regulations. Most probably, this had changed by now, but all the same it was an explanation for Elena’s predispositions.

The old woman must have read his mind. “Well, and of course you know Elena by now”, she went on. “She has always been … different. She is very much like my mother, with a connection to something … well, let’s call it ‘out-worldly’. Surely you have realized it or you wouldn’t have taken so much troubles with her.”

Again he didn’t know what to say. Good thing he had a teacup in front of him. He held it to his lips and gingerly took a sip. It was hot, strong and very good.

“I’m grateful you’re taking an interest”, the old woman went on. “Elena hasn’t found her way in life yet, but like most young people she thinks she has. – Yet, I have to tell you I’m a little bit worried, as well …”

“Why?” The question came out like a shot.

“I’m afraid it is all getting a bit much …”

He racked his brain for an appropriate answer. He couldn’t well say what he really thought of people who spent their time prancing around ballrooms and indulged in breaking straightforward sentences up into word-trees. Luckily though he was spared from having to come up with something because in this very moment there was a click from a key being turned in the front door’s lock.

“Oh, there she is!” Mrs Crawford exclaimed unnecessarily.

Sure enough, Elena walked into the sitting room only moments later. She wore a white embroidered dress and a denim jacket and there were drops of rain in the mane of her hair. She raised an eyebrow when she beheld Snape and the corners of her mouth twitched amusedly. “Why, good evening, Professor”, she said with a pointedly amiably smile.

Something had changed. He sensed it immediately. Prior to that fateful night, she had been as trusting and affectionate as a puppy. Now there was a distance and it was reflected in the way she held her body, arms crossed.

“Mr Snape has been kind enough to chat with me a little”, the aunt announced.

“Really?” Elena let the denim jacket slip from her shoulders and tossed it on one of the unoccupied armchairs. “Or was he kind enough to let you chat _at_ him?”

Mrs Crawford laughed her pleasant old-lady giggle and a short exchange in a foreign language followed. The words sounded drawled and Snape noticed that both women had different voices when they spoke. Also he had the disquieting feeling that he was the subject of their conversation. It did nothing to relieve his discomfort.

Elena walked over to a stereo in the corner of the room. She busied herself with it, opening a drawer and putting a silvery disc in. A short moment later, music filled the sitting room. It was soft, swinging, and she slightly swayed her hips to the swelling rhythm, for a moment completely oblivious to her surroundings. He watched her, but it made him uneasy. After a while she turned around, crossed her arms again, but didn’t move to sit down. There was a haughty look in her eyes.

Anna Crawford cleared her throat, sensing the tension in the room. “I’ve got to call up Millie”, she said. She leaned forward, smiling at Snape. “My sister-in-law. She’s a bitch, but we talk at least once a week.” With that, she got up, shuffled towards the kitchen and closed the door behind her.

The sitting room fell silent again, expect for the music. Elena was still standing by the stereo and fixed Snape with a gaze that was hard to interpret. “So here you are”, she said and a chilling note was in her voice.

Something was up. He sensed anger. That wouldn’t do. He resolved to take the wind out of her sails immediately. “As I can see, you’ve been keeping yourself busy”, he sneered, indicating the books on the low table. “I should have thought you’d have better things to do.”

“What’s it to you?” she hissed, eyes furious. “You didn’t give a damn the last few days!”

Snape was a little taken aback by this. “Nor did you”, he pointed out. “After all, you want something from me, not the other way around.”

Elena stared at him incredulously. “I don’t believe this!” she flared. “You expose me to a bunch of torturing thugs in your house and you offer no explanation at all?”

“If I remember correctly it was me who got tortured”, he responded coldly. “And if you’d asked, I would have tried to explain, but you didn’t.”

“You’re lying through your teeth!” she accused him.

He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Alright, if it makes you happy …” he drawled, “it was an accident and I’m sorry you got involved.”

“An accident, huh?” She hurled herself onto the sofa beside him, staring into his eyes. “Then why did Mr Shacklebolt say that he ‘told you so’? You knew that something might happen, you knew all along!”

“I was well protected”, he claimed. “If you hadn’t messed up your …”

“Don’t give me that!” she tore in viciously. Her shrill voice reverberated from the walls. “Don’t you _dare_ lay it on _my_ doorstep!”

He considered her. She looked wild in this moment, her hair tousled, her eyes glittering dangerously and her black brows drawing tightly together. She also looked very much like a witch, not at all like the timid Muggle girl that had first come to his house. Snape resolved that it was better not to irate her any further.

“Fine”, he hissed. “I take responsibility. Not that it would help much. Whatever happened, happened. I did have a life before I met you, you know. What you witnessed that night was … a consequence of that.”

“What did they want?”

“Torture me, kill me”, Snape said curtly.

“But why?” Apprehension appeared on her face.

“It’s a long story.”

“That one guy called you a traitor.”

“Yeah, well, some kind of justification is required if you attack a man in his own house.”

She rolled her eyes. “Tell me!” she demanded. “And don’t give me that crap about it being a long story.”

He closed his eyes in exasperation, quickly considering what he might say next. When he spoke again he looked intently at his fingers. “These men”, he began, sounding a little pedantic, “were paid by someone who I might have … put off by my actions in the past.”

“Put off”, she repeated with a dead-pan expression.

“We’ve had some problems in our world”, he amended.

“Yes. I heard about your wizarding war.”

He raised his eyebrows, examined her. Of course. Lupin. “Then you know all about it already”, he concluded.

“No. I was relying on you to tell me.”

Again, he sighed. “You do have wars in your Muggle world, don’t you?” he growled. “So you know how it goes: two sides fighting against each other and when one side wins, the guys at the other end sulk and dream about revenge.”

“What I saw that night was no dream”, she reminded him coldly.

“Like I said, I’m sorry it happened while you were around.”

Her laugh was an ice-cold shower. “Yeah, but what would have happened to you if I hadn’t been around?”

Snape opened his mouth, ready to say something about cauldrons that wouldn’t have exploded. However, he thought better of it. She already seemed to be cooling down a little and he didn’t want to stall the process. “You’re right”, he acknowledged reluctantly. “You did well.”

“Now, just how difficult was that”, she murmured darkly.

Another awkward silence ensued. Inwardly, Snape counted to thirty, hoping that it was enough time to be able to introduce a different subject. “We should continue with your studies”, he said eventually. “I have a feeling you’re slowly getting out of the fledgling stage. It’d be a pity to stop because of some little mishap.”

She gave a snort, put her face in her hand and shook her head. “I really don’t get you”, she whispered, but with a rueful smile.

“Is that important?” he asked and it was in fact quite an innocent question.

She stared at him. It was hard to guess what she thought. However, the anger had disappeared from her face and made way to something that resembled exhaustion. “You know”, she began hesitatingly, “I have a good mind to stop with all that …”

“ _What_?” he shot out with a jolt. “You want to stop your magical studies because of a bunch of thugs that happened to …”

“Don’t make it sound like it was nothing more than a random nuisance!” she protested, her anger flaring up once more. However, it lasted for only a few seconds before she cast down her eyes. “It’s not because of that. It is just … I’m getting the feeling that it makes no sense at all …”

“And what happened to becoming an oh-so-independent witch?” he demanded, now barely capable of restraining his growing irritation.

Elena sighed, looking dejected. “I’m really grateful for all the trouble you took”, she said. “But I’ve thought about it all. It’s no use.”

“Why?”

“Let’s face it, I’m twenty-four years old”, she continued, a definite note of plaintiveness in her voice. “I will never be any good at this. I guess I simply started too late. And I have other things to do. I have to make money, there’s no way around that. I haven’t done anything for uni lately and it’s catching up with me. It’s not that I don’t want to learn about magic, but … I have to think about what’s realistic. At this point, I find it pretty unrealistic that I could ever be anyone in your world. You know, have a career, keep myself.”

Snape looked at her hard. Was she serious? Yes, she was. He could see it in the way she stubbornly pushed forward her lower lip. He was brimming inside with discomfort, irritation and … disappointment. He saw that he had to act quickly. “I don’t think it’s unrealistic”, he murmured.

“Don’t tell me that if you don’t mean it”, she whispered, now definitely sad.

“I do”, said Snape and when she merely shrugged, he went on haltingly. “You can do this. You have talent. Quite a lot of it, actually.”

“Your flattery is not very convincing, Professor”, she muttered.

“It is not flattery”, he hissed, wanting to shake her out of her ridiculous hang-ups. “Maybe potions are not quite your thing, but otherwise everything has been going well, I think. Quite well.”

“Maybe, but will it suffice …”

“Yes”, he breathed, sorely exasperated. “I’m sure it will. – And now please spare me from having to bolster up your self-esteem any longer. It’s undignified.”

“Oh gosh, we can’t have _that_ ”, she remarked sarcastically. “Well, thanks for the pep talk, Professor” – he winced – “but that doesn’t really change anything. I still have to prepare for my courses. I just can’t give that up, it might be my future. You must see how I cannot be that stupid. – And for the time being, I still have to teach at the dancing school.” She stared at Snape, chin up, expecting him to argue with her.

However, Snape merely cleared his throat. “Well, it seems I may have just the thing for you.” He got up from his seat, rummaged in the pockets of his cloak and when he brought out his hand, he held it towards her.

Elena carefully observed him opening his hand and showing her the glittering item in his palm. It was an hourglass hanging by the end of a golden chain. “A necklace?” she asked, confused.

“It’s a Time-Turner”, Snape corrected. “The hour glass can be turned in its sphere and will take you back by one hour for each turn.”

Now she was intrigued. She looked back and forth between him and the shiny hourglass. “Time travel?” she breathed and made to touch it, however, Snape closed his fingers over it.

“Not to be taken lightly”, he said gruffly. “Messing about with time can have serious consequences. If you accept this, I need your promise that you will continue your studies of magic. And before I give it to you, you might as well know that it comes with a set of rules that I will have you learn by heart. – Also, I insist you handle it carefully. It may mean nothing to you, but this Time Turner is the last of its kind existing in this world.”

She looked sufficiently awed. “It can really turn back time?” she whispered incredulously.

“Didn’t I just say that?” he sighed.

He opened his fingers a little and instantly she tried to snatch it out of his hand. He was quicker, however, and put it back in his pocket.

“Oh, come on!” she squealed. “Give it to me already!”

“Promise first”, he demanded.

“Alright, alright, I promise!”

“What exactly?”

She moaned. “I promise to continue with my studies of magic. Provided you give me this _now_.”

The hand came out of the robes pocket once more. He held it in front of her enticingly, but wouldn’t open his fingers just yet. “Don’t play around with it. Like I said, it can have …”

“… serious consequences”, she finished impatiently. “I’m not a little kid, Professor!”

She took the Time-Turner. Gingerly, she held it in her hands, appraising it with a look of awe. Then, very carefully, she hung it around her neck. “I have one condition”, she said thoughtfully.

“A condition? I don’t know if you are in the position to set conditions now.”

“Oh yes, I am.”

She stared into his eyes. It was an intense gaze and again Snape felt the need to shift uncomfortably. He knew what she was alluding to. That night, and how she had helped him. She didn’t care that it had been no more than dumb luck. “I want you to teach me how to fight”, she informed him. “For real.”

He understood her line of thinking. “I assure you it will not happen again”, he declared in his smoothest tones. “My house is much better protected now. There will be no need for you to fight anyone.”

“With people like you, one never knows”, she shot back. “You seem to be the sort that likes to get involved in dodgy things.”

He snorted. She would have been surprised …

“The condition is non-negotiable”, she informed him and it was obvious that she meant it. “I reckon I won’t get anything out of you about what exactly happened that night and why …”

“I already told you …”

“You told me nothing!” she hissed and it came out so fiercely that he shut his mouth. “That’s alright, though. Protect your little secrets, Professor, by all means. But don’t let me run into them like a blind mouse. If you won’t tell me what bloody Death Eaters are, at least teach me what to do in case I ever run into one of them again.”

He looked up at the ceiling, inhaling sharply. “Agreed”, he murmured with a very sour look on his pallid visage.

“Good”, she said. It sounded infuriatingly satisfied. When he looked at her again, there was an impertinent grin on her face.

“Any more conditions?” he asked sarcastically.

“Not just now, thank you, but I shall keep you informed.”

They were silent for a moment, facing each other. Elena resembled a cat that had just killed and eaten the fattest canary of its life.

“So”, Snape started, resenting her satisfaction, “when will we continue? The coming weekend?”

“No”, she replied with a cool headshake. “I have plans on the weekend.”

“What plans?” he asked immediately as if they were any of his business.

“I’m going to London”, she answered innocently, “to meet up with a friend.”

He examined her suspiciously, but she just smiled, suddenly radiant again. “Well, then”, he growled, “make a suggestion.”

“I’ll come over on Monday”, she said. “The usual time. Will that suit you?”

He gave a curt nod. The feeling of distance which he had sensed when she had walked into the sitting room was back. Was there something she didn’t tell him? For a moment he entertained the idea of a covert _Legilimens_ , but decided against it. It was, after all, a weapon of war. Yet, he would have liked to know what was going on inside her head.

Instead, he muttered a clipped “See you then” and announced that he would have to leave. Elena accompanied him to the door, humming a melody. She continued to look very pleased when she said her goodbye and distractedly slammed the door shut behind him …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	13. Back to the Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elena learns more about her surly teacher ...

**Back to the Alley**

 

The train ride to London seemed to take forever. When the announcement of Euston Station finally came over the intercom, Elena snapped her Transfiguration book shut with a contented sigh. She had steadfastly tried to distract herself from the rattling of the wheels, the screaming of kids in the neighbouring compartment and the two old biddies sitting next to her chatting about recipes and knitting patterns.

She had reached an interesting chapter – material transfiguration – and was discreetly beginning to try it out on her own clothes, turned a black seam into a white one and then into a red-threaded criss-cross stitch. It worked better than she had expected and it was a pity that she couldn’t attempt more of it on the train. Maybe there was some truth in what Snape had said and she really wasn’t so bad in all this. She was pretty sure, however, that he had also been trying to mollycoddle her. In her conversation with him, she had clearly noticed the look of disappointment on his face when she had told him she wanted to cease her studies of magic. Probably, he would have told her anything to keep her going. That he had tried so hard, however, had plucked a string within her. It allowed her to entertain the illusion that he cared and this moved her strangely.

‘Calm down’, the parrot on her shoulder told her (she always imagined her inner voice as a loud-mouthed, cheekily chatting bird perched by her ear), ‘he’s only doing it for himself. He’s alone, cooped up in that dump and the only people coming to visit him are bloody Death Eathers. And you.’ Snape’s disappointment might have had nothing to do with her personally, but merely with the fact that she gave him something to do. He was, after all, a teacher.

When she got off the train, weaving through the throngs of passengers trampling along the platform, Elena made up her mind that she would not think of him any more. The man was like a labyrinth. Once you entered trying to figure it out, it was hard to find one’s way back. This day was for herself. Her first solo trip into the magical world.

She wasn’t too familiar with London, but after she had figured out the tube system, she managed to find the busy shopping street with _The Leaky Cauldron_ squeezed in between a book shop and a record shop. It was a bright summer day, the temperature mild, but underneath the cool breeze Elena sensed the heat gathering up for a new wave of subtropical weather. It was an unusual summer, not only by English standards, but for her, as well.

 _The Leaky Cauldron_ was pretty empty by this time of day, only a small number of strange-looking people frequented it. Elena walked through the guestroom and quickly made for the square backyard where she found the brick which Snape had touched with the tip of his wand that first time. Although she had expected no less, she was still pleased when the brick reacted to her wand and the stone wall gave way to open up Diagon Alley in front of her. It was like an acknowledgement that she belonged here, that she was, in fact, a witch, and something inside of her had sorely needed just such a confirmation.

 

* * *

 

Two days earlier, while still dozing on the narrow bed in her box room, a strange noise had woken her. It sounded like the fluttering of heavy wings followed by a soft rap against the window panes. She had climbed out of bed to investigate and found a tawny owl sitting on the outside sill, looking at her intently. Tied to its foot, the owl had carried a piece of parchment.

Elena had already seen the occasional owl arrive at Snape’s place and gathered that it was the wizarding world’s chief means of exchanging messages. Her teacher had usually just relieved the bird of its message, reading the note with a darkening expression before he had sent the owl on its way again, in fact almost hurling it out of the window. She, however, loved animals and gave this one the rest of the almond cake she hadn’t quite eaten up the day before. Only then did she unroll the parchment.

 

_Dear Elena,_

_If your plans of going to Diagon Alley are still standing, I’d be pleased to meet you there. What about coming Saturday, 3 p.m., for instance, at Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour? I’d be very glad to further your knowledge on the wizarding world …_

_If you want you can keep the bird that brought this. Please consider it a Ministry-sponsored witch’s starter kit which I hope will come in useful. I’ll await your answer …_

_Best regards,_

_Remus Lupin_

 

She had replied instantly, scribbling on the back of the parchment and tying the roll to the owl’s foot which it had obligingly stuck out after having stuffed itself with almond cake. The owl sighed a little before it took off. Well, who didn’t have a stressful job these days?

 

* * *

 

Now she was sitting in Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour in front of what was called a Triwizard Cup, waiting and hoping that Lupin would turn up. If he didn’t, she’d be in trouble since she had no wizarding money at all. She tried not to show her apprehension too obviously, but entertained herself by watching the people in Diagon Alley.

They were a funny bunch, these witches and wizards. They strolled along the pavement wearing pointed hats and clothes in sometimes ludicrous colours. Elena spotted an elderly man with a ruff, but also a number of little fellows with large eyes, big feet and drooping ears. She wondered what they were.

It was a colourful world which she had entered, and she felt like an alien in it. The longer she watched, however, the more familiar these everyday scenes became. At the table beside her, two little kids begged their parents for more ice cream. In front of the parlour, a couple stood arguing, the witch with tears in her eyes, the wizard rolling his – a classic lover’s tiff. Never mind funny clothes, drooping ears and formidable warts – underneath they were normal people, desperate to be recognized and loved. Human nature was the same everywhere, magic or not.

But what about Snape? Was he, too, ruled by humanity or was he as cold and unemotional as he led everyone too believe? Elena was still a little irked by the way he had shown virtually no reaction to the Death Eater’s attack, how he had dismissed it as an unlucky incident. What had happened in his life to make him so cold, sarcastic and always in control? Well, not always. The image of him lying on that floor, face bloody, eyes rolling up in their sockets, came back to her. It gave her a sharp jab.

Elena shook herself. Hadn’t she made up her mind not to think about him today? Well, good luck with that …

In that moment, she spotted Remus Lupin in the crowd strolling up the street and she waved to him. His worn and sad face lit up a bit as he came straight towards her. “So you made it”, he remarked, drawing out a chair from under the table. “I wasn’t sure. It’s quite a trek from where you’re living.”

“Yeah, it is”, Elena said ruefully, “and needless to say, no one taught me how to Apparate yet.”

“Apparition’s not easy”, Lupin explained with a wink, “can go horribly wrong, I could tell you some stories …”

He sat down, ordered and they chatted for a while, devouring ice cream. This time Elena made sure to ask him a lot of questions since she still had a bad conscience about having spoken only about herself when they had last met. She thus learnt a few things, for instance that the parlour they were sitting in had belonged to a man who had recently been killed in the wizarding war, but had been taken over by his two daughters. Lupin also told Elena that he had once worked as a teacher at Hogwarts. She moreover learnt that he was recently widowed.

“I’m so sorry for you”, she said honestly. “It must be hard. Didn’t you say you had a little boy?”

“Yes. Teddy.” The sadness was blatant now in his face, but he attempted a brave smile. “If it wasn’t for him …” He made a fatalistic gesture. “He is very much like my wife. A Metamorphmagus.”

“What’s that?”

“He can change his features at will. Hair colour, too.”

“Oh, I’d love that!” she exclaimed.

He chuckled. “Teddy certainly made a better choice becoming like his mother. Not a werewolf, like his run-down old dad …”

“Are you serious?” she stared at him.

“Dead serious”, he replied with a shrug. “But don’t worry. I’m … properly medicated.”

“I see …” It took her a while to digest that.

“Sorry for blurting it out like that”, said Lupin hastily. “I know it usually scares people and was brought up to tell. However, such things get out eventually, mostly at the worst possible point in time. And after all that has happened in the last few years, I have come to the conclusion that there are worse things than being a werewolf. I find that I don’t have the nerve for socially required cover-up stories anymore. These days, I flatly refuse to tell any of those.”

“And you should”, Elena said and she meant it, finding his directness refreshing. She considered Lupin for a while before she hazarded a question. “You say a lot happened during the last few years … surely you mean the wizarding war?”

Remus nodded. “Did our mutual acquaintance tell you a little more about that?”

“Do pigs fly?” she asked, raising a comical eyebrow.

“It’s how my wife died”, Remus explained. “In battle. About ten weeks ago.”

“It ended so recently?” Elena whispered, a little shocked. “I had no idea …”

“Yes”, Remus said with his sad smile, “you have found us at a crazy time. Too late, some might say. But way to early to find everything in perfect order.”

Hence, the attack. Elena nodded. She had such a lot of questions, it was hard to pick one. “What was this war about?”

“In brief? Orphaned-boy-turned-bad-wizard wanting more power. Gaining followers, spreading fear. After years of terror, he finds his nemesis in a little boy, a mere baby. Bad wizard is reduced to a shadow, goes into hiding. He comes back, however, grows stronger. Gains followers, spreads fear. And the boy, now a teenager, defeats him once more.”

“The bad wizard being Lord Volltrottel[1] and the boy Harry Potter.”

It was a statement, not a question, so Lupin went on. “The gory details you can add by yourself. After all, you’ve recently had a taste of it.”

“How did the Potter boy win?” she asked. “He seems so young.”

“With a good and generous heart”, Lupin replied without hesitation, “loyal friends, bravery and the help of formidable men. One of them, by the way …”

He grinned at her and she understood. “So Professor Snape is one of the good guys?” she stated with considerably more relief than she had expected.

To her surprise, Remus Lupin merely laughed at that. “Well, in any case”, he went on, “ever since the victory our little world has been in a constant state of exultation. Or rather it’s a heady mix between exhilaration and mourning. You may not see it, especially not here in Diagon Alley where things are always busy, no matter how bad the times. But had you seen how it was before …”

“How was it before?”

Lupin frowned. “Oppressive. People didn’t know whom to trust. Everybody knew someone who had either vanished or been killed. Fear at every corner.” Elena noticed his shudder. “I’ve seen it twice in my lifetime and I hope I will never see it again.”

“And to make sure of that you’ve joined the Ministry?”

“Just for a while, during the transition”, Lupin explained. “Our Ministry had been undercut by dark forces, you see. Most positions needed to be cleared and replaced with trustworthy people. That’s not so easy because a large number of our best women and men are dead.”

“Those dark wizards – the Death Eaters – what did they want?”

“Pure blood”, Lupin said. “They advocate control over Muggles and believe that Muggle-born wizards and witches are no more than bastards and should not have the same status as those born into wizarding families.”

Elena frowned. “Are there still a lot around who think like that?”

“A victory is a powerful thing, but it can’t rub out long-standing habits and attitudes”, Lupin said with a rueful smile.

“I know”, said Elena. “Something very similar happened in my world about fifty years ago. And it’s still happening. One group thinking that they are better than another, based on blood, race, heritage or … well, magic.”

“Sadly that seems to be part of human nature”, Lupin mused, then glanced into her almost empty Triwizard Cup. “Are you done with that? I want to show you something.”

Elena made a face and leaned forward confidentially. “Remus, do you have any idea how I might get my hands on some wizarding money?”

He chuckled. “Be my guest.”

“That’s kind, but it doesn’t solve the basic problem.”

“You could sell something”, Lupin suggested. “There are shops which are really keen on so-called Muggle artefacts. They’ll take anything from old gramophones to defunct lawn-mowers …”

Elena frowned, mentally going through the contents of Anna’s attic.

“… jewellery, too”, Lupin added and looked at the chain hanging around her neck.

Elenas hand reached up. The small hourglass sat under her summer blouse, resting coolly on her sternum. She knew that she shouldn’t carry it around with her at all times, but she hated to part with it. It was, after all, the first magical object she possessed apart from her wand. “No way, I’m not giving that away”, she said quickly.

“What is it, anyway?” asked Lupin, looking interested.

Elena flashed the hourglass at him by raising the chain, then quickly let the Time Turner disappear in the cleft between her breasts again.

“A Time Turner”, Lupin whispered and a smile spread on his face. “I’ve seen one of those before. It may even have been the same, you know. – How did you get it?”

Elena gave him a pointed look. “It was a gift”, she explained, “or rather, a peace offering.”

“Ah.” Lupin said no more. He had called the waiter over and counted out a few silver coins on the table. He then gave Elena a signal and they left the parlour, leisurely strolling down the busy alley.

 

* * *

 

Visiting Diagon Alley with Remus Lupin was an altogether more relaxed and entertaining affair than it had been with Snape. Her new companion neither pushed nor dragged her around. He let her explore wherever she wanted and she wanted to explore a lot. She went from bookshop to newsstand, from newsstand to clothes shop and from clothes shop to beauty parlour. He took visible pleasure in her wide eyes and even helped her sell her old disc man to a peddler who went completely over the moon when he beheld it, and she was paid a sum of wizarding money which she believed to be totally out of proportion for the blasted thing.

“I have a bad conscience now”, she intimated to Remus when they came out of the chaotic little shop. “The laser doesn’t always work …”

“Never mind”, said Lupin with a wink. “This man has been pulling wool over naïve buyers’ eyes for decades. Paying more than it was worth won’t hurt him.”

That settled, they went on through the sunny streets and shadowy lanes. Now of means, Elena went into a buying frenzy, stacking up on books, amulets and a flowery-smelling potion that guaranteed instant relief from sore feet. She also found a beautiful white muslin dress with long nested sleeves and very fine embroidery. The shopkeeper explained to her that it was elf-made and a bargain at that, so she had to have it. When only a small fraction of the money she had got for her sale was left, she spent the rest on copies of the _Daily Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly_ for reading material on the train ride home and put both papers into her satchel.

They continued their walk to the furthest end of Diagon Alley where they reached a white wall which looked clean and pristine as if it had just been erected. All the same, the wall was covered in plates that held names and dates, as well as all kinds of inscriptions. People had tagged bunches of flowers and ribbons to the wall and Elena quickly understood what it was: a wall of mourning, remembering the dead, victims of two wizarding wars.

She watched Lupin walk up to it, his face stricken. He had produced a small bouquet of pink roses which he fixed to a plaque inscribed with the words, _Nymphadora Lupin, née Tonks, beloved wife, mother and daughter, * 24.06.1973, + 02.05.1998_ , with a solemn expression. Elena didn’t want to disturb him in this moment, so she strolled away a bit and took in the surroundings.

The white wall belonged to a little square. Contrary to what one might have thought of a site of mourning, it was not at all a depressing place. The white bricks gleamed in the sun. The space before it was crowded with witches and wizards standing in groups, talking, remembering, laughing even. There were a few tears, along with patting soothing hands and warm embraces. On white steps leading up to what looked like an administrative building, a band had set up, playing a sentimental song. Elena had never heard it before, but it was obvious from the way some people sang or hummed along that it was very well known in this sphere. This world had its own songs, its own tales and wars, its own grief. And yet, they, too, sought strength in numbers when they were distraught.

Remus came back after a fashion, quietly joining up to her side and watching the scene. “Strange thing”, he murmured, “human resilience.”

“You mean what people can bear?”

He nodded. “As horrible as a war may be, I have never seen a time that brings out the best in people quite like it. I have seen and heard of some of them doing things that I never would have expected of them. Brave things, kind-hearted things. War can be a catharsis.”

“And the opposite, I guess”, Elena hazarded.

“Yes. – But then, there is nothing like war to show how closely together good and evil are.” He gave her a pointed look that made her frown. Only after a while did it occur to her that Lupin might have wanted to tell her something with that remark. He must have been referring to Snape. – But the moment had passed, Remus was already turning on his heel and beckoning to her to come. She followed, and together they walked away from the square with its wall of mourning.

“Tell me about yourself”, Remus demanded, “what did you do before you became a witch.”

“I studied literature and worked as a dancing teacher”, she replied with a smile. “I still do it.”

Lupin appeared impressed. “You seem to be full of talents.”

“Full of useless talents”, she amended ruefully, “you know, the arts – literature, poetry, music. My father calls them ‘breadless pursuits’.”

“How do you think your life might look in five year’s time?”

“Honestly, I have no idea”, she confessed. “My original plan was to get a doctorate in literature … but really, I only wanted to do that because it would give me time to stick around in academe and not actually make a professional choice. Literature _is_ , after all, a breadless pursuit. At the moment, I’m quite happy with being a dancing teacher.”

“How is magic going to figure in all this?”

Elena drew up her shoulders and let them fall again, with a comical expression of confusion on her face. “Good question. Actually, I’ve been asking myself just that ever since I’ve learnt that I’m a witch. As you said before, I might have come into all this a little late …”

Remus gave her a piercing side glance. “Is Severus telling you this?”

“No.” She shook her head fervently. “He insists I carry on. You see, I had a good mind to stop my magical studies, mainly because I’m too old. He said it doesn’t matter and that I cannot let my talents go to waste …”

“I agree”, remarked Lupin with a look of satisfaction. “You’ve been given a very special gift. Ignoring it would be equivalent to refusing it.”

“It also makes my life very complex. There never seems to be enough time.”

“I guess that’s what the thing around your neck is for.” Lupin grinned.

Elena didn’t reply to this, but continued to walk quietly by his side. Her mind was occupied, though. Only after a couple of minutes did she speak. “Remus, you said that you and Mr Snape were at school together. In the same year, in fact …”

“Yes?” Remus smirked, and Elena sighed inwardly because she had only just remembered her resolution not to think about Severus Snape this afternoon. She saw now that banning him from her thoughts was a futile attempt.

“Were you friends?”

“Not exactly.” The reply came so quickly and without hesitation that Elena looked up and shot him a scrutinizing look.

“What does that mean?” she wanted to know. “Did you _hate_ each other?”

“I don’t hate people”, Lupin said simply. “Or only very rarely, in any case. – And I daresay that Severus was so busy hating my best friends that he hardly noticed I was there.” He broke off, gave Elena another side glance and added, “He exposed me, though.”

“ _Exposed_ you?”

“With my lycanthropy. It was a secret, you see. My parents knew about it, and later my three best friends, but they kept mum. Until Severus Snape came blundering along …”

“Not a very nice thing to do”, Elena murmured and for some reason she didn’t quite understand, her cheeks became suffused with heat. “How did he figure it out, anyway?”

“Severus has just the very mixture between curiosity and brains that has a huge capacity for nuisance”, Remus said with a shrug. “But I kind of got back at him …”

“You did?”

“M-hm. Nearly killed him.”

“ _What??_ ”

“It wasn’t my intention”, Remus said ruefully, “merely by affliction. And nothing happened, luckily. But I still can’t help feeling pleased about the scare I gave him. Made him back off for a while …”

“Back off from what?”

“From bullying me and my friends.”

“The ones Snape hated?”

“Yes. Sirius Black and James … Potter.”

“ _Potter_?”

“Yes. Harry’s father.”

“Snape and Harry Potter’s father hated each other?” Quite without noticing it, Elena had stopped walking and stared at her companion with a look that was a little anxious. She had suddenly begun to sense a web, a web of relationships, complex loyalties and enmities that stretched far into the past and might have consequences for the present that she couldn’t even begin to fathom.

Remus had stopped too, but the expression on his face had changed. He almost appeared regretful, as if he had said too much. “Teenage disputes”, he mumbled. “May become a little bit heated, especially among boys.”

“Yes. But what was the reason?”

Remus opened his mouth, then closed it. Without noticing it, they had come out near Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour again.

“Well?” Elena asked.

It was in this moment that someone called out to Remus. It was a heavy-set wizard about his age with a balding head on which just a few wisps of red-blond hair remained. “Lupin! Wait!”

Elena saw Remus raise his eyebrows. “Hello Marlin. Fancy seeing you here.” It must have been a joke because the wizard who joined them definitely looked as if he spent every minute of his spare time in the ice cream parlour.

Remus quickly introduced Elena and Marlin – who seemed to be a colleague from the Ministry – but the balding wizard just nodded to her fleetingly, obviously having different things on his mind. He plunged directly into it. “Listen, Lupin, is it true there was an attack on Severus Snape’s house?”

Elena pricked her ears and Lupin frowned. “Keep it down a bit, man. Orders are to keep quiet about it.”

However, Marlin didn’t seem to care. “Did he suffer?”

“Why’re you asking?”

“’Cause I’d like to know. For all I care, that murderin’ bastard can bleed to death!”

“Calm yourself”, Remus mumbled. “You know what Harry Potter said.”

“Harry Potter!” spat Marlin. “He’s only a boy. What do I care what he said? Severus Snape belongs in Azkaban if you ask me. Let him rot there or better still: give him to the Dementors!”

“The Dementors have been dismissed from Azkaban”, Lupin said tiredly.

“More’s the pity”, growled Marlin. “The Ministry’s gone soft, that’s what I think.”

“You’d rather have it like it was a year ago?” asked Lupin and took Elena by the elbow. “If you’ll excuse us now, Marlin, I have no time for your ranting.”

Remus pulled Elena away and Marlin was left dumbstruck in front of the parlour.

“What was _that_?” Elena breathed, still a bit rattled.

“Don’t mind him”, Lupin sighed. “He likes to hear himself talking.” It was obvious that he wasn’t prepared to say anymore, so Elena only gave him a few curious side glances while they walked on. Marlin’s words, however, reverberated in her mind. _That murderin’ bastard_? What the hell was that about? However, given Lupin’s reticence she resolved to save her questions for another time.

When they had almost reached the wall that led to the backyard of _The Leaky Cauldron_ , Lupin – his smile restored on his face – bowed to her slightly. “It’s been a very pleasant afternoon”, he said, “but I’m afraid I have to leave now and collect my boy from his grandmother. We’re having dinner with friends tonight.”

Elena quickly checked the clock of a nearby building which lay partly in ruins. As Remus had explained to her, it was Gringott’s, the wizarding bank, another victim of war, now surrounded by scaffolding on which the tiny droopy-eared creatures she had seen earlier – they were house-elves, she now knew – hopped back and forth. “Six o’clock already!” she exclaimed. “My train leaves in fifteen minutes!”

Remus took her to Euston station by Apparition. This time, she was able to keep her ice cream inside, even if only just. Lupin accompanied her to the platform and made sure she boarded her train. Before they exchanged goodbyes, he reached into the pocket of his tattered jacket and brought out an envelope.

“I’ve prepared this for you”, he said, thrusting the envelope into her hands. “They are clippings from various newspapers which I have collected over the years. It should give you a greater picture of what the wizarding war was about and how events went down. I made sure only to put in articles that report facts. As you can imagine, there are a lot of rumours and legends about and I think it is important that you don’t let those confuse you. Of course, you can read the newspapers you bought today, but please bear in mind that you will find a lot of speculation and untruths there, particularly in _Witch Weekly_.” He frowned a bit.

“I know the drill”, Elena assured him, “my aunt likes to read the tabloids. I’m always telling her she shouldn’t believe all the bullshit that’s printed in there.”

“So I can rely on your discerning eye?”

“You can”, Elena promised. She felt nervous again, fingering the envelope in her hands. What would she find in there? Would it really help her to better understand what had happened in the wizarding world in the last years? And most of all: would she learn anything about Severus Snape? She could hardly wait to board the train …

 

She was already well on her way when she finally allowed herself to open the envelope. She also got the newspapers she had bought out of her satchel, being careful that her co-passengers couldn’t see the moving pictures. Moving pictures! After she had gotten over her glee of them, she dedicated herself to the contents of the articles.

When the train finally and after long hours reached Birmingham Central, Elena was still immersed and almost forgot to get off. Then she was standing on the platform, a clear night sky sprinkled with stars over her. She was brimming inside. She knew now, every essential detail about the wizarding war and the glorious victory of Harry Potter over the dark wizard that had called himself Lord Voldemort. And about Severus Snape.

Sitting on the bus that was shuttling her back to Cokeworth, her head spun. Although she had got what she wanted – more information on her surly teacher – she hadn’t got any further in knowing what to think about the man. A villain turned hero? A man who had spent a large portion of his life as a double-agent, leaving everyone in uncertainty as to where his true allegiances lay? A _murderin’ bastard_?

True enough, she now had a completely different perspective on the man. However, to say that she was surprised was not exactly correct. Intuitively, she had always felt that Snape was as black and white on the inside as he was on the outside. Was he a man constantly trying to balance out the two forces tearing at him and was a random tip enough to push him to either of it? Or was he truly reformed, his dark past dead and buried?

It was one of the cases where more information merely increased the confusion. However, she understood much better now why he had been attacked and why he was so obsessive about protecting his house and only leaving it when he had to. She started to understand the strain he must be under. But she was still far from understanding Snape himself.

It was close to midnight when she was back in her box room, starting on the articles again and reading them once more until her eyelids started to become heavy. She then stowed everything away in the bottom drawer of her nightstand and in her mind. That night, black-hooded figures visited her dreams. They surrounded her, staring at her menacingly from eyes that she couldn’t see but knew were there. One of the cloaked shapes was Snape, but Elena wasn’t able to find out which. When she advanced towards one of them with every intention of tearing down that hood, the figure went up in a puff of black smoke. This went on and on until only one figure was left standing. However, before Elena could reach it, it laughed teasingly, went out by a suddenly appearing door and left her alone in a bare room with cracks in the ceiling and insects scurrying along the walls …

 

 

[1] German for ‚dumbass’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	14. Conversations

**Conversations**

 

“Professor?”

“Mmh?”

“What exactly is Azkaban?”

Snape looked up from the Charms book. This had been going so well. Why now?

“Where’d you get that from?”

“I heard it in Diagon Alley.” She gave him one of her innocent looks. They always made him think that there was a hidden agenda.

“It is a prison”, he responded as evenly as he could.

“A prison for wizards?”

“And witches, occasionally.”

“Mixed pop”, she said thoughtfully. “Pretty advanced for anything coming from magical folks.”

“I know you have this notion that the wizarding world is backward, you told me often enough. I don’t see what it has to do with your levitating spells.”

“Come on, Professor! You’ve just seen that I can do them.”

“There are still vanishing spells …”

“Just one more question!”

“… you could, for instance, make that book disappear.”

Roll of eyes, flick of wand and the book was gone. He had to think of something better. Maybe move on to Transfiguration, she would have to concentrate more. Stupid thing was, he always did that when she appeared to get bored or distracted. It had started to look like a desperate last resolve.

“What are Dementors?”

He considered her carefully. Lately she had taken to asking him strange questions that always seemed to beat around the bush. Or maybe he was imagining it. Surely she must constantly pick up terms in her textbooks, the meaning of which she had no idea of. Teaching someone in their twenties had the advantage that they knew how to think and how to abstract – which was generally why he didn’t teach her according to the Hogwarts syllabus but rather as he saw fit – but there were so many things that Hogwarts Muggle students picked up from interaction with their peers that were completely beyond her. He scratched his itching beard which – in Elena’s words – was ‘fast approaching jihadi stage’.

“Dementors are dark creatures, non-beings”, he explained. “They feed on the souls of human beings, swallowing up all hope and happiness.”

“Whoa”, she breathed. “Have you ever seen one?”

“I have”, he said. “Can we go on?”

“Wait, wait! – How do you fight a Dementor? If you ever run into one.”

“You won’t run into a Dementor.”

“But you promised to tell me more about fighting. So?”

Best say it and get it over with. It was the quickest way to get back to basics. “The most obvious solution – even if not the most sophisticated one – is to cast a Patronus charm.”

“What is a Patronus charm?”

“A protective spell that takes the shape of an animal.”

“Sounds interesting. What’s yours like?”

“Personal question.”

“That’s already a personal question??”

“What are you driving at?” It gave him a little shock how forcefully his voice reverberated from the walls of his sitting room. He hadn’t meant it to come out like this, but for his taste her questions were a little too close to the core. She could have asked about pixies and gargoyles, after all, but came up with Azkaban and Dementors. Did she know? And if so, how? He thought of Lupin. Had the wary werewolf meddled in his affairs? Given her the low-down? However, Lupin had made it clear that in his view enlightening Elena was Snape’s job.

Except, of course, he was a wooing werewolf who was trying hard to catch her interest. Severus looked at Elena who was still a little taken aback by his small outburst. She wasn’t half bad. One could even describe her as pretty if one discounted that awful Muggle get-up. Today, she wore a pair of extravagantly short pants along with a sleeveless top. The weather had become hot again and in her mind this seemed to give her license to divest herself. He knew, of course, that this was the modern Muggle woman’s way and at least she had the legs to carry it off. – And yes, maybe Lupin _was_ a wooing werewolf …

Yet, wouldn’t it be rather frivolous so soon after … But maybe that was exactly why. Lupin was lonely and might consider a young woman to be the best kind of distraction. Snape could see how to the lesser mind this might be a way of coping, although in his view it seemed quite desperate.

“Professor? Are you still with me?”

He looked up with a frown. While he had been ‘Mr Snape’ to her in the beginning, she now invariably called him ‘Professor’. That was fine by him, only he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was having him on.

“Did you want to say something?”

“ _You_ were just yelling at me because I asked you what your Patronus was like”, she pointed out.

“Will you survive?” He cocked an ironic eyebrow at her.

She shifted on the sofa, uncrossed her legs and crossed them again. They were long, toned and tan. “Only if I can ask another question.”

He groaned inwardly. What would it be now? Death Eaters again? The Dark Lord? Or even worse, Albus Dumbledore? “What is it?”

“Why don’t we have lessons at my place every now and then?”

He breathed with relief. “I will think about it”, he said curtly. “Now can we focus on the matter at hand?”

 

* * *

 

Of course, Professor. Let’s focus on the matter at hand. God forbid this all become too personal.

The next chapter in the Charms textbook, however, was an interesting one. Engorging spells. Elena could see how useful they might come in. As far as her studies of magic were concerned, she was all for useful.

Snape had her read the chapter in silence, then went on to explain a few things and after that they practiced. Elena quickly understood the principle. He explained well, at least once he forgot his foul temper. When teaching, he sometimes arrived at a state where he was almost ease, and along with it the lines in his face became softer and the scowl was reduced to remnants.

She listened to his voice, the silky timbre and the posh British accent he had laid on. By now, however, she was able to discern the clipped tones that betrayed his working-class background. He was careful to hide them, but irritation and exhaustion made it come out which meant that she heard it pretty often. They always brought her back to the same question: _Who was this man?_

In the past week, she’d gone through Lupin’s articles several times. They had explained a great deal to her. She knew about Snape’s past as a Death Eater and his sudden change of affiliation to become a spy and double-agent. She knew that Harry Potter, when questioned at the Wizengamot – which seemed to be some High Court of the wizarding world – had named Snape’s covert work as a significant contribution in his defeat of Lord Voldemort. By all appearances, the man was a hero. However, she couldn’t forget the balding wizard she had encountered with Lupin, who had called Snape a ‘murderin’ bastard’.

Yes, there was that harrowing detail of the murder of Albus Dumbledore. Had Snape really finished the old man off? There seemed to be contradicting views. Some spoke of a cold-blooded killing, others of a death pact, of an act of mercy even.

Over the edge of her book, Elena watched her teacher. How she would have liked to strip off this impenetrable façade and take a peek at what lay behind. Why, for instance, was he holed up in this dump? If he was in fact a hero, what kept him from venturing out and collecting the praise? He did have quite a substantial ego after all, of that she was certain. Was it bad conscience that kept him indoors? Or merely the fear of retribution from his old associates?

Something else wandered into her mind. That thing with his supposed ‘childhood friend’, as Lupin’s articles would have it, incidentally the mother of Harry Potter. Was it true that Snape had harboured feelings for her – as _Witch Weekly_ claimed – and had this been his reason for becoming a spy? Elena didn’t know why, but this detail fascinated her. Although it was hard to imagine Snape in love, it made him more human and proved that he had some emotional capacity after all. But why the coldness, then? Why the obvious neglect and the unwashed hair? Had this love damaged or maybe even broken him beyond repair? She remembered, too, what Lupin had told her about the enmity between Snape and his best friends, one of which had been Harry Potter’s father. The conclusion that this conflict had had something to do with a girl wasn’t too far off.

Musing about Snape’s emotional landscape brought her to _that_ question again. Was he a virgin? Had he ever had any kind of relationship with a woman? Even now she couldn’t have hazarded a guess. In a way, he seemed strangely asexual, closed-down and walled-up as he was, investing any kind of passion that he might be capable of in his scowling, his abrasive comments and of course in his magic. Yet, Elena was pretty sure he had checked out her legs a few moments ago.

She shifted on the sofa again, stretching, draping them to greater advantage – she was, after all, quite proud of them – but he didn’t look up from his book. Another strange thought entered her mind. Would he be seduced? Was it even possible? A shiver ran over her skin. ‘Not again!’ she sighed inwardly. ‘Haven’t we already resolved that?’ The parrot on her shoulder merely laughed.

Elena tried hard to concentrate on engorging spells. However, she couldn’t help wondering why he had reacted so touchily to her question about his Patronus. She hadn’t meant anything by it, it was the keyword ‘animal shape’ that had made her ask. Had she finally managed to pierce the cold armour a bit? What was so special about his Patronus? Maybe it was a snake. Considering the manner in which he had supposedly died, it would be understandable if he didn’t want to speak about it.

Yes, the snake. Big, fat, magical badass snake. And his death. Harry Potter had sworn he’d seen him die in that Shivering Shack or whatever that place’s name had been. Elena didn’t know what to make of it. Surely that detail had to be a legend? Severus Snape couldn’t possibly be the next best thing to Jesus Christ! It _had_ to be a legend. Magic, wizarding wars, Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort, all well and good, but someone rising from the dead was simply too much. She wished she could ask Snape about it without him going bonkers.

 

* * *

 

“And now for something entirely different: Time-Turner Rules, if you please.”

“Not again, Professor!”

“Must you always complain? Repeating them will help you remember.”

“My memory is fine. And I’ve already used the Time Turner without problem.”

“Didn’t I tell you to wait with it?”

“Yes, until I remembered the rules. Which I do.”

Snape frowned. “I’m afraid you’re taking this much too lightly. You don’t seem to realize what an extraordinary item a Time Turner is.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, it’s super-special and all that …”

“Enough with the flippancy”, he growled. “This is serious. You’re in possession of the last Time Turner that may exist in this world.”

Now that did throw her a bit. “The last one?”

“I told you before!” He stared at her hard, reproach in his eyes.

“I must have forgotten …”

He scowled at that admission and at the same time, he looked a little smug because in his view, this proved his point that she didn’t put enough care and respect into the use of the Time Turner. “There were more”, he went on after he had sufficiently savoured the moment, “all destroyed during a little mishap in the Ministry of Magic a couple of years ago. Except for this one.”

“Wow”, Elena murmured.

“Someone entrusted it to me. Surely that someone was relying on me to handle it responsibly.”

“And yet you’re giving it to unworthy little me?” She couldn’t resist the irony.

“Yes. Though I’m having second thoughts right now …”

“Oh, come on!”

“Do you realize why Time Turners are so special? And also dangerous?”

She saw that he just had to tell her. His self-importance had to be indulged in, there was no way around it. “Tell me”, she said, trying hard to keep an even face and not sound too bored.

“Most magical items”, he launched into his speech, “depend on a witch or wizard to work properly, meaning that a Muggle could never achieve the same effect. These are so-called _dependent_ items. The wand is the most obvious example. If a Muggle used a wand, nothing would happen. To the Muggle, a wand would merely be a useless kind of stick.”

Elena nodded, remembering her first encounter with Snape’s wand and what she had thought about it before she had used it, how she had tried to figure out why anyone would need such a thing. It seemed like ages ago.

“The Time Turner is different”, Snape went on. “It does not depend on the magic of a person. If your aunt used it, it would transport her back in time just as it does with you.”

“Extraordinary”, Elena breathed, wondering when he’d snap out of it.

He shot her a very dark look. “It _is_ extraordinary”, he claimed. “There are not a lot of magical items like that and I’ve come across _a lot_ in my life. If you think about it for a minute, you will realize why it is so special. And so dangerous, particularly in the wrong hands.”

“Alright. I get it, Professor. This is a really great gift …”

“I wasn’t going for your gratitude!” he huffed.

“… and I promise you I’m not going to borrow it to my aunt. However, you should trust me every now and then. – I’m perfectly …”

“Don’t talk to me about trust as long as you’re still a novice of magic.”

She supressed a sigh and mumbled “ _Vertrauen ist gut, Kontrolle ist besser_.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Trust is good, control’s better”, she translated. “The Germans invented that one; who else?”

“Well, I agree.”

“Yeah, you’d make a perfect German. – Anyway, I promise you, Professor, that I’m _totally_ aware of the gravity of the situation. And of the Time Turner, of course. I’m not going to use it lightly, inappropriately or obscenely. I swear, magic is a bloody holy cow to me! And the Time Turner’s its teat.”

“Again with the drama.”

“What I’m trying to say is – there’s no need to repeat the Time-Turner rules …”

 

He had her rattle them off, anyway. Clearly, there was a sadist living inside him. However, she gave him no reason to find fault and afterwards he looked a bit clueless as if he had no idea how to harass her next. Elena used the resulting little pause.

“Do you think those rules are based on facts?” she started.

“What d’you mean?” He raised an admonishing eyebrow at her. “Would you claim that they have been installed without reason?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time in human history”, Elena replied with a shrug. “It happens all the time: rules are set up by God-knows-who and people follow like sheep, never wondering, never challenging what they are taught …”

“I don’t think that challenging the Time-Turner rules would be a good idea”, he said sternly. “In any case, I’d strongly advise against trying.”

“I see why you would”, she admitted. “But tell me – do you, know of anyone who went back in time by more than five hours?”

“No”, he said pointedly, “and that is probably because no one stupid enough to do it lived to tell the tale. There are, in fact, some harrowing stories …”

“Such as?”

“Of wizards and witches who went back in time, encountered their younger self and killed it. As a result, they didn’t make it back to the present.”

“And you know this how?” she butted in with narrowed eyes. “If they didn’t come back, how could they have told their tale?”

He made a noncommittal gesture. “Witness reports, I presume …”

“I have read about this”, Elena said, suddenly eager. “It’s called ‘the grandfather paradox’. You see, there are a lot of theories in modern physics on time travel and how it would work.”

As was to be expected, he scoffed. “Muggle theories, I take it.”

“Don’t be such a bigot”, she huffed. “Don’t you think it interesting that Einstein’s general relativity theory allows for time travel and that something which used to be relayed to the field of superstition actually works?”

“Which the wizarding world has known all along”, he replied in a bored voice.

“You _do_ know who Einstein was, don’t you?” She just had to ask, his arrogance provoked her.

Snape shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “Heard the name”, he mumbled.

Elena rolled her eyes. “Really, Professor, a well-read man such as you should have more out-of-the-box interests!”

He clearly didn’t like the reproach of one-sidedness. “Why should I be interested in Muggle physics?” he challenged her. “Why should I worship your Mr Newton’s gravity, knowing fully well that I can upset it with one flick of my wand and make that damn apple do as I please?” Once again he looked smug and pleased with himself for having remembered the old tale of the falling apple, thus demonstrating that he had, in fact, some knowledge of physics. Elena, however, grinned.

“Gee, Professor, Newton lived in the seventeenth and eighteenth century! I don’t mean to discredit him, but since then the world of physics has been turned upside-down. Einstein, Gödel, Heisenberg, and, incidentally, a man called Igor Dimitriyevich Novikov …”

“You don’t understand what I’m telling you, do you?” he interrupted her smoothly. “Your Muggle physics doesn’t apply to the wizarding world which is ruled by entirely different …”

“Nonsense!” she interjected with a raucous laugh. “If you trip, you fall, don’t you? Even you, the great Severus Snape. What is that but physics?”

“I may catch myself and hover in the air for a while instead of falling. And why is that? Because I have magic. And magic is capable of upsetting physics.”

“Ordinary physics, maybe”, she conceded. “But not twentieth-century physics which is, if anything, a promising approach to explaining magic.” She ignored his doubtful look. “Believe me, quantum mechanics is all about that: the harnessing and manipulation of energy to achieve certain ends, sometimes even astonishing results. Ever heard of the wave-particle duality? De Broglie? Schrödinger?”

Snape’s irritation made him twitch. “If you think you can impress me with names and concepts, you’re …”

“Doesn’t really matter”, she waved his interjection away. “Fact is, modern physics is closer than ever to finding an explanation for magic and thus to integrating it into the Muggle worldview. The informed ones among us have come to accept that reality is not a fixed state, but may change or set itself together spontaneously in any given moment. And what is magic, after all, if not a way of changing a state of reality?”

He didn’t respond to that, but scrutinized her and thoughtfully scratched his beard. Had she finally managed to shut him up? Elena could hardly believe it and went on quickly before this precious moment was over.

“Now, back to time travel”, she went on. “Like I said, I have been doing some reading and according to Einstein’s general relativity theory, it can be achieved. It is mathematically possible, mathematically proven, even. However, there is the problem of paradoxes such as the grandfather paradox: you go back in time, encounter your own grandfather before he knocks up your grandmother and kill him with the result that you can never be born and thus can never go back in time in the first place because you don’t exist. That’s a problem, as you will agree.”

“Hence, the Time-Turner rules”, Snape remarked tiredly.

“No, no, Professor, that’s too easy.” Elena tilted her head. “You know, I’m slowly getting the impression that witches and wizards are not very good at logic and that they don’t really like to think. They’d rather make up a set of rules and adhere to it religiously instead of straining their brains a bit and trying to find out whether those rules make any sense.”

Snape frowned at that, but he didn’t object. Maybe he had grown tired of correcting her prejudices.

“Now, in modern physics there exist two theories that eliminate the occurrence of paradoxes”, she continued. “One of them is the Novikov self-consistency principle. It argues closed time curves, meaning that whatever actions a time traveller undertakes, he can never change the final outcome. In a much-quoted story, for instance, a man goes back in time to prevent the burning-down of a house. When entering said house in the past, he inadvertently knocks over a lamp and thus causes the fire. Straightforward enough, isn’t it? – But there is also another theory, the many-worlds interpretation. Parallel universes. In that, you could actually go back in time and kill your grandfather off, but since by the time travel you have entered an alternative string of reality, that doesn’t touch the path you came from, it doesn’t have any detrimental effects since you then live in the alternative universe, cannot go back to the original one so that the outcome of the reality you now live in is completely open. – Ultimately, of course, these two theories support the assumption that paradoxes are impossible.”

“I understand”, said Snape, appearing at least a little bit interested, “but what you are telling me are just theories, aren’t they? To be honest, they seem like hindsight constructions to me.”

“Yet they can be proven by mathematics.”

“Muggle mathematics”, said Snape, but by the way he quirked his eyebrow she saw that he was merely challenging her for the thrill of it.

“Muggles haven’t invented mathematics”, Elena stated evenly. “Nor have wizards. – In fact, unlike all other languages that are clearly human-made, I believe that mathematics was there long before humans were. Underlying natural phenomena, granted, and dormant, unformulated. Still, if there is such a thing as a universal language, it must surely be mathematics.”

“And if something can be proven by mathematics, it must inevitably be true?”

“Maybe not true, but possible.”

“So it could also be entirely different?”

“Different, but not false. You mustn’t confuse those two.”

She could almost hear him think. There was also a glitter in his eyes. However, he wouldn’t have been Severus Snape if he had been so easily convinced.

“So can I take it that you intend to completely disregard the Time-Turner rules?” he asked smoothly.

She shook her head. “I won’t disregard them”, she said. “I think that the provision that you should avoid encountering yourself when you go back is very reasonable because such an encounter would greatly destabilize the path of reality you’re tampering with …”

“Well, thank God”, he sighed in mock-relief.

“… but on the whole my thinking runs along those lines: by and large, time travel is self-consistent, as Novikov says. The closed time curve works as long as you don’t change anything too massively. If you do, however, the many-worlds concept will set in. You enter a parallel universe, though you may be non-the-wiser of the fact that you can never go back to the original universe.”

“Which would leave the other reality – what? Just dangling there somewhere?”

“Probably. But it is the human condition to only be able to perceive _one_ reality. We are bound to the linearity of time or, to be more precise, to the linearity of only one time line.”

Again, there was a pause in which Snape seemed lost in thought. He was enjoying himself now, she realized, finding pleasure in debate. “Let me tell you a story”, he offered almost affably, “a true one, mind you. – I used to know a man whose life was saved by means of a Time Turner. Not that it deserved to be saved”, he added with a frown, “but anyway. As a matter of fact, he died two years later. – Would that, by your logic, be a result of self-consistency?”

“I don’t know”, she murmured. “In the first time line he died, in the second one he lived. Sounds like alternative universe to me. But maybe it _was_ self-consistency since the significant change of the second time line was, well, corrected and he died anyway. Then again, we all die eventually.”

Her eyes met Snape’s, but he looked away.

“Here’s the catch of the story”, he continued, “along with this man, a Hippogriff was saved from execution …”

“What’s a Hippogriff?”

“A magical creature, half-bird, half-horse. – It lived, and for all I know, it is still alive and well today while in the other, first reality it was put down. So here we definitely have an alternative universe?”

“Yes. Or different rules apply to magical creatures.”

“Why should this be the case? If the laws of physics you so revere apply universally, certainly they should apply to all living beings?”

“It would seem so”, Elena conceded, “but then we know nothing about the reality perceived by animals, let alone magical animals. – It is like Einstein said: it is difficult, yes, impossible even to make objective statements when the observer’s own position is inevitably subjective.”

“Looks like we’re running in circles”, Snape stated dryly. “And after all, what are you telling me here? That you’re a fatalist?” Another sarcastically raised eyebrow.

“That’s what those two theories really mean”, Elena replied. “That fate exists and that everything is written, at least looking at the greater picture. Free will only applies in the small things that don’t have any significant effect on the time line.”

“Still I would like to remind you that what you have presented here are theories”, he said sternly, “and you shouldn’t disregard the rules on the basis of mere postulations.”

“I won’t”, Elena promised, “and don’t get me wrong, that thing has helped me a great deal. Most of all, I believe now more than ever that there is an underlying sense in everything that happens. The details may be random, but on the whole everybody gets what they deserve.”

She saw immediately that it had been a mistake to say that. His face darkened instantly. “Everybody gets what they deserve?” he repeated irritably. “Considering all the suffering in this world, don’t you find that a little cruel?”

“Since when has life been fair?” she countered.

He stared at her for a brief second, but recovered very quickly. “It is not. Trust me, I know that. But shouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know. Maybe all the suffering exists to keep people from becoming too boisterous.”

“And that justifies it in your view?”

“In a way, yes. Again, you have to look at the greater picture and not at individual lives. Suffering might exist to make people better. In my country they say that ‘what doesn’t kill us makes us strong’. I think without suffering – or without witnessing suffering – no one would ever have any incentive for development. Humans are lazy. Without proper motivation they’d never do anything.”

“There, at least, we agree.”

“Must be about the first time”, she remarked with a grin. “We should celebrate that, go out and have a few drinks …”

“Don’t run ahead of yourself”, he warned her and got up from his seat. He stood over her now, frowning.

“What is it?” Elena asked, a little taken aback by the stern scrutiny he gave her.

“Give me the Time-Turner”, he demanded quietly.

Her eyes widened. “Why?”

“Give it to me”, he repeated his request. Again, his face was unreadable and it was impossible to guess at his purpose.

Hesitantly, Elena removed the chain from around her neck and gave him the item.

With a swift movement, Snape pocketed it in his robes.

“Now wait a minute!” Elena protested. “What are you doing?”

“Keeping you safe”, he said and there was a malicious quirk around his mouth.

“ _What??_ ”

“As interesting as your little lecture on modern physics may have been”, he went on and the malicious quirk became nasty, “it has also convinced me that you are handling this far too independently.”

“Define independence!” she hissed, feeling tricked after he had seemingly listened to her so patiently. She saw now that it had only been a front.

“You have defined it for me already”, he reminded her smugly. “The independence of witches? Your contention that you can do as you please?”

“I will _not_ do as I please! Can you blame me for some independent thinking?”

“Well”, he said, patting his robes pocket, “now it will be easier for you not to let your ‘independent thinking’ run away with you.”

“I thought it was a gift!” An angry line had appeared on her forehead and Snape’s grin became broader.

“I’m still going to let you use it”, he promised, sounding a little reconciliatory. “But it will be better if we do this on a need-to-have basis.”

“Professor!” she breathed. “You’re making me crazy!”

A funny thing happened then. He laughed. It was a short raucous sound, a little bit like a bark, and there was bitterness in it. Yet, it was the first time she had heard him laugh. “I’m sure you survive.”

She glowered at him, but Snape remained unfazed. Unexpectedly, he stretched out his hand towards her. “Come.”

“What?” she huffed.

“Let’s go.”

“Your whirling thing again?”

“It’s called Apparition.”

“Where to?” She did her best to sound disinterested to let him know that she was still put out.

He sighed. “I thought you were interested in that Patronus?”

Her facial expression changed completely, and in the next moment, she jumped off the sofa. “Heck, yes! I bet mine’s a cat.”

“Afraid so”, murmured Snape, took her hand and in the next moment, the dusty sitting-room was empty.

 

* * *

 

“Come on Remus, help yourself.”

However, Remus Lupin pushed away the plate. Molly was certainly an excellent cook but enough was enough. His appetite was erratic at best, anyway. Although if it hadn’t been for those frequent dinners at the Weasleys, he’d have looked even more worn out than he already did.

Molly glowered at him mutinously, but Remus leant back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head and smiling contentedly.

“You have to eat …”

“Leave him alone, Molly”, said Arthur. He, too, had had his fill and hung in the chair like a sack of potatoes. “If you continue to go at him like that he won’t be able to fit through the door anymore.”

“We’re still a long way from that.”

“Thank you, Molly”, Lupin said, “as always, the food was excellent. You should think of opening up a restaurant.”

“Maybe I will”, she said with a testy jerk of the head, “seeing that everybody seems to insist on leaving me …”

“Come on, Mom”, Ron murmured. “We’re not that bad.”

“Oh, but _you_ are the worst! Always out and about.”

“Our children have grown up, Molly”, Arthur said mildly, putting his hand on his wife’s. “We’ll have to get used to them not sticking around all the time.”

It was an awkward moment. Everyone at the table knew how sensitive Mrs Weasley had become since Fred’s death. Particularly, she had got it into her head that no one was going to need her anymore. This was precisely the reason why dinner at the Weasley home had become such an important event and no one of those present dared to forego one without a proper presentation of grounds.

“But they are still kids”, Molly argued in a plaintive voice.

“Kids who had to grow up very quickly”, Remus pointed out. “Fighting a dark wizard tends to bring that about.”

He caught grateful glances from George, Percy, Ron and Ginny. These days they were continuously tip-toeing around their mother, Harry and Hermione along with them. In fact the Weasley household was still a lively one, there could be no question of it becoming deserted for any time soon, but that didn’t seem to get through to Mrs Weasley.

Molly got up from the table sighing. “At least, there’s still Teddy.” She picked up the little boy from where he sat on the carpet among stuffed elves and hippogriffs and hugged him fiercely. “You won’t leave your auntie Molly, will you, sugarplum?”

Teddy looked at her with fascination and immediately his hair turned to her fiery red. He did the same with Ginny’s freckles whenever she was near him. Heaven forbid he ever meet Severus Snape. He would totally copy the man’s nose.

The thought gave Remus an idea on how to best break the awkwardness in the cramped Weasley kitchen. “I met Eusebius Marlin the other day”, he said.

“Oh yes, the old talker?” Arthur, wary of his wife’s recent moodiness, immediately jumped at the opportunity. “Did he have anything interesting to say?”

“Not really, apart from that Severus Snape should rot in Azkaban.”

“There are still plenty of people around who think like that”, Arthur said evenly.

“Idiots”, Hermione snorted darkly. “Some just don’t get it.” She looked very miffed today. Obviously, she and Ron had had some kind of fight again.

“Well, at least in Azkaban he wouldn’t bother anyone”, Ron stated with a shrug.

“Don’t talk like that”, hissed Molly who had carried Teddy over to the window to show him the garden gnomes scurrying about. Once more, the Weasley property was infested with them.

“Yeah, I get it, he’s one of the good guys now.” Ron stuffed his face with more chicken casserole and mumbled in between bites. “He’s also still a horrible person.”

“He probably had to be”, Hermione huffed. “To keep his cover and all that.”

“Oh, come on! Don’t tell me the greasy git didn’t enjoy every minute of bullying students!”

“He may be as he is”, Molly said, glaring at her youngest son, “but he’s a brave man. The things he did for Harry …”

“Harry’s mom, more like”, George said with a grin.

“Plus, he killed Dumbledore”, amended Ron, spitting chicken on the table.

Hermione was fast reaching the end of her tether. “He didn’t! I’ve explained to you over and over, you dimwit …”

“I know, I know!” Ron raised both his hands. “Death pact and all that. He still stood on top of that tower and cast the _Avada Kedavra_.”

“I don’t _believe_ you! Dumbledore and he …”

“That’s probably exactly the issue here”, Harry stepped in to keep his friends from plunging into a row, “what Mr Marlin said, I mean. Snape makes too good a villain and a lot of folks just won’t let go of that notion. Particularly those who knew him.”

“And why is that?” Ron crowed triumphantly. “Because he’s a greasy git, that’s why!”

“Ron, I think if you say any more either Mom or Hermione are going to starve you for a week”, Ginny remarked cheerfully.

“Won’t hurt”, Hermione murmured, “he got fat.”

“What?? I didn’t …”

“Severus is certainly not an endearing character”, Lupin interrupted the ensuing exchange. “Never has, never will.”

“I know.” Harry scoffed, but with a smile. “That other night when we went to his house? He acted as if I wasn’t even there.”

“Have you been able to find out anything substantial about the attack?” Arthur asked Remus.

“Not really. – We interrogated the perpetrators, of course, but it appears that they just did it for the money. One of them was ready to tell us the name of the person who commissioned them, but he got tongue-tied when he tried. Very powerful curse. We haven’t been able to lift it.”

“So whoever did it might strike again?”

“It’s a possibility.”

“Still Snape is staying in that house of his?” Ginny asked. “Wouldn’t it be wiser to seek shelter at the Ministry? Or Hogwarts even? Harry said McGonagall would like to have him back.”

Lupin smiled at that. “I don’t see Severus Snape crawling to the Ministry’s doorsteps any time soon. And as for Hogwarts – the reconstruction is far from finished and the protective spells are not yet up. So I hardly think it would be any safer than his home.”

“Plus, he’s got company there”, Harry said, grinning. He turned to Remus. “Did you tell them?”

Lupin shook his head. “I thought I’d leave that privilege to you since you are going to have way more fun with it.”

“What is this?” Ginny asked curiously. “What kind of company?”

Harry threw her a meaningful glance. “A woman.”

“No!” exclaimed George, eyes wide. “You’re kidding!”

“Not an ugly one, either.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute”, Ron butted in. “Snape’s got a _girlfriend_? I thought he was supposed to be in love with your mom?”

“Oh Ron, you’re so dense …”

“He said she was his neighbour”, Harry went on to explain. “Anyway, she busted him out. Took out two Death Eaters and packed up one of them as neatly as a parcel. – Remus talked to her.”

Inevitably all eyes now turned on Lupin. The news were, after all, quite stunning. He resolved not to give the rumours a chance of bubbling over. “She is in fact Severus’ neighbour and a student of his, too.”

“I thought he didn’t like teaching”, George said. “Only took the job because You-Know-Who told him to.”

“Maybe he doesn’t know himself so well”, replied Lupin with a smirk.

“And this woman is OK with having him as a teacher?” Ron asked, clearly worried. “He hasn’t put her under an _Imperio_ , has he? What is he teaching her anyway?”

“All things magic”, Lupin responded. “Appears she never knew she was a witch until Severus … well, ‘discovered’ her.”

“He’s quite a witch-smeller, that one”, Molly remarked amusedly.

Harry grinned. “I remember thinking that she looked like a Muggle. That’s why I was wondering. Snape doesn’t like Muggles much.”

“You may be wrong there”, Lupin stated, “in fact, I’m starting to think that deep down he is quite attracted to Muggles. He’s a half-blood, after all, so it’s in him.”

“Imagine Snape being _attracted_ to you! Yuck …”

“Shut up, Ron!”

“He _was_ a Death Eater, wasn’t he”, Percy entered the conversation. “If you like Muggles, that’s not an obvious career choice.”

“Quite true”, Lupin admitted, “but I said ‘deep down’. Again, I think Severus may not know himself too well. The fascination he has for Muggles was probably well blocked and denied. However, if he had really hated them that much, I hardly think he would have been so smitten with Lily.”

“Makes sense.” Harry looked thoughtful. “People are like that sometimes. Claiming that they hate something that really they want to be a part of or want to be recognized by.”

“You should become a shrink, Harry”, George teased him.

“But, hey, don’t y’all think it a bit … well, _flighty_ of Snape to fall for another woman so soon?” Ron suggested.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “So _soon_? Harry’s mom died more than fifteen years ago!”

“And your imagination is running wild”, Lupin came to her support. “Like I said, she’s his student. That’s all.”

“Of course that’s all”, said Ron with a satisfied look on his face. “No woman in her right mind would snog Snape.”

Glances and nods were exchanged over the kitchen table.

“In any case”, Lupin went on, “I will say this for her: she’s not afraid of him. In fact, she seems quite impervious to his … special brand of charm.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing”, said Ginny, her eyes dancing.

“ _Yuck_ ”, Ron spat once more.

“Does he like her?” Hermione wanted to know.

“I’m sure he does, in a way” Lupin replied, looking thoughtfully out of the window. “He probably wouldn’t admit it to himself and rather drivel about ‘wizardly duty’. But he certainly wouldn’t teach her if he didn’t.”

Arthur gave a hearty laugh. “Probably the girl doesn’t even know what she is getting herself into.”

Lupin got up from the table, gently took Teddy out of Molly’s arms and cooed to him a bit. The baby laughed gleefully and Remus looked back towards the group sitting at the table.

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Arthur”, he said with a mischievous smile. “Not at all, actually.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	15. Patronuses and Parchments

**Patronuses and Parchments**

 

The Patronus didn’t go so well.

It was almost an hour since they had left Snape’s house and still Elena hadn’t been able to produce anything beyond a weak silver thread dripping pathetically from her wand. No matter how much she tried, it just didn’t work and it was beginning to show on her face. The first half hour she had still been optimistic. After all, she’d never encountered any considerable problems in her charms work. After a while, however, the nervous tic had once again appeared below her left eye and by now she was definitely testy.

Snape on his part was increasingly mystified. Granted, the Patronus was not an easy feat and ordinarily not fit to be taught to novices of magic. Yet he had been pretty sure that she would manage. She was talented enough and always focused her magical energy well. Her first futile efforts at the Patronus he had observed with a certain malicious amusement about her – in his mind long overdue – come-uppance. Now, however, he was beginning to wonder whether he hadn’t explained well.

He suggested she stop trying and went on to explain from the start. Maybe he had forgotten an important detail. Maybe she had overheard something.

“I know, Professor, I heard you the first time round”, she snapped when he had finished. “Concentrate on a happy memory and say _Expecto Patronum_. That’s exactly what I was doing.”

“Obviously not”, he remarked coldly, “or you’d be about done by now.”

She gave him a look that he had only seen on her when he had tried to teach her potions. Pissed-off, insecure and a little embarrassed. She took a deep breath and then another one. Not prepared to let go, she concentrated again – the crease above her nose deep – and after a few seconds she hollered an angry “ _Expecto Patronum_ ” across the clearing. To no effect.

“You’re getting too emotional”, he remarked.

“Oh yes?” she hissed. “Wouldn’t _you_ get emotional if you did your best and it just didn’t work?”

“Maybe”, he said with a shrug.

“Maybe?” she glowered at him. “Oh, I see – of course, this never happens to you because you’re the magnificent Professor Snape and there is nothing you can’t do. You are spending your life in eternal scorn about the fruitless efforts of the rest of us. Does that about sum it up, Professor?”

“Closely enough”, he replied coolly. The testier she got, the lazier he became. Her eyes sparkled dangerously and he realized that he was beginning to enjoy this. “Try again”, he said with a sigh that signified that he didn’t expect much. She was fuming now, but she did as she was told. He knew right away that she wouldn’t succeed. She was far too revved up.

“Take a breather”, he counselled her. “Go through your happy memory again …”

“I could _puke_ it out”, she spat in a strangled voice.

“How about that breather?”

“Oh, stuff it …”

 

* * *

 

This was fast becoming ridiculous. She hadn’t felt like this ever since she’d been a child. Elena was too used to the fact that when she put her mind to something, she’d usually do well. Okay, she was pretty bad at potions, but then she wasn’t really interested in that. She was, however, very interested in being able to cast that Patronus. Blasted thing!

Much to her chagrin, she felt her eyes prickle. Please, not now! Not in front of him! She was acting like a child stomping its feet and screaming at the inevitable. She wasn’t like that, she wasn’t like that at all! Or maybe she was?

Elena swallowed several times and waited, forced down the tears. When she had half calmed down, she tried again. Same result.

“You’re not concentrating enough”, Snape taunted her.

Screw him! In fact, crucify him, nail him to the wall, throw him into the deepest snake pit you could find. This cold bastard, this greasy-haired idiot, this sorry excuse for a …

‘Stop’, she told herself. ‘It’s not going to work this way.’

So she took that breather. Took her sweet time about it. Let him become impatient, it didn’t matter.

She stared into the undergrowth of the small woods where he had taken her. It was the same clearing he always Apparated them to when they practiced outdoor spells. It was secluded, thickly enwalled by trees and bushes. Not for the first time, she had the feeling that this place was special, that it meant something to him.

She turned around. “My concentration is not the problem”, she told him. Suddenly, she was calm and although her eyes still itched a little, the immediate danger of bursting into tears had been thwarted.

“You think?” he said ironically.

“Yes, I think”, she pressed forth between clenched teeth. “And you know it as well as I do. My focus is never the problem, not even in your cooking lessons.”

“Yet your performance is similarly abysmal”, he said silkily and viciously. She knew why. She had insulted his favourite field of magic by calling it ‘cooking’. He didn’t like that at all and she very well knew it. It was her way of getting back at him, so there was no reason to take his malicious repartee personally. With a start of some kind, she realized that she was slowly getting the hang of him. However, that didn’t solve the problem at hand.

Elena was in fact sure that nothing was wrong with her concentration. She was able to focus alright, had taught herself to do so from an early age on, mainly to control her magic. She had learnt enough spells by now to know that they came easy to her and that she didn’t lack the basic talent.

So what was wrong? – Suddenly she knew. Well, to be honest she had known all along, deep down. She just hadn’t been able to face it. Now, however, the reason came up, dancing a jeering jig in front of her inner eye. She could not ignore it any longer.

 

* * *

 

Snape saw the change on her face. Anger and embarrassment had all of a sudden turned into melancholic gloom. Something was up, he just couldn’t tell what it was.

“Any thoughts on why this is so difficult?” he asked. In spite of himself he made a little effort at sounding gentle. It didn’t quite come out that way – he had no practice at gentleness – but at least he managed not to put her on edge again.

“I can’t think of a happy enough memory”, she said quietly. She was standing very still, staring into the canopy of leaves. Her eyes had the exact same colour, forest-green, and they were sad.

He was a little taken aback by the statement. He had only ever seen her cheerful. In fact, she was so cheerful and nonchalant most of the time that it seemed almost naïve. Granted, she had been distraught when she had first come to his door. But those had been extraordinary circumstances and he had not believed her to be generally capable of such sadness. Yet here it was, blatant and quite unmistakable.

“Come on”, he prompted her. “There must be something.”

She sighed. “I’ve tried, really. I’ve thought about when I came to England, getting away from home. That didn’t do the trick. Then I tried with my first flawless Viennese waltz. Nothing. And otherwise? I guess I was happy when I got good grades in school, but that’s really kind of weak when you think about it.”

“No, doesn’t sound right”, he agreed. “When I said ‘happy memory’, I meant more in the direction of … ecstatically happy.”

She shot him a strange look. He could guess why. She didn’t think he had it in him and wondered how he was able to cast a Patronus. He had to stop himself from smiling.

“I can’t think of anything”, she insisted darkly, “I can come up with a few okay memories, but not with anything really happy. – I’ve never been in love, either. Well, I thought I was at the time, but it turned out to be …”

“I see”, he interrupted quickly. “What about your childhood? Most people take their happiest memories from there.”

The sombre expression returned. “My childhood wasn’t happy”, she said simply.

He scoffed. “Are you going to tell me you were not a loved child?” His incredulity was genuine. After all, he knew what unloved children looked like. Or rather, he knew that they didn’t look like her.

“Oh, I was loved.” The fleeting smile was back. Suddenly he understood that it was her façade. She used her smiles like a shield, ready to turn them on any time. “But you see, parents can love their children too much. Overprotect them. Not give them the air to breathe. Particularly if said children are different and the parents scared.”

He understood what she was trying to say. He had certainly not been overprotected, but fear had been at the root of his father’s aggression, as well. However, Severus hadn’t properly realized that until he was an adult. “They tried to contain your magic?” he asked.

She nodded.

“How?” Why, actually, was he asking? Why did he even care?

“By locking me in”, she replied. “They got a doctor to keep me out of school for the first two years on the grounds of some invented illness. The hospitals weren’t invented, though, nor were the medicals, I must have had close to a hundred. And when that didn’t help … how do you English call it? Trip to the woodshed?”

Severus stared at the grassy ground under his boots. A comment on self-pity had been on the tip of his tongue. Now he felt anger. It was the same kind of anger he had felt almost constantly as a child. His father, too, had been a firm believer in beating the magic out of his family members. He hadn’t succeeded, of course, other than making his son hate him even more. Today Snape generally told himself that the beatings had made him stronger. But she was a girl, for God’s sake! However, he didn’t comment on Elena’s revelation. Questions were superfluous and any kind of commiseration would sound pitiful. He didn’t want to offend her in that way.

“I always used to think”, Elena went on, “that these days you need a license for everything. Driving a car, opening a business … but children you can just have, without any kind of qualification.”

He snorted, but it wasn’t malicious. He had frequently had the same line of thought. “I know what you mean”, he murmured.

She shot him another look, but this time there was an understanding. She knew what he had just signalled to her, that his experiences had been similar and that they were, in a way, companions in misfortune.

They stood side-by-side for a while, silent, not knowing what to say. Finally, Snape cleared his throat. Something had occurred to him and he found that he couldn’t resist asking her. “Are you still talking to them?”

“My parents? – Yeah, on birthdays”, she replied with a faint smile. “I’m OK with my mother. My father … well, let’s just say politeness helps. – Also I’ve realized by now that all they ever were was afraid for me and _of_ me. Their own daughter! On the one hand that’s pretty sad, but on the other hand I can’t help feeling quite a bit of _schadenfreude_.”

He smirked at that. Again he let a few seconds pass before he spoke. “Well. As to the Patronus, I suggest we leave it for today. You should maybe take a little time to consider and when a truly happy memory occurs to you, we can try again.”

The sadness was back. This was, after all, an admission of defeat, but she nodded. Quietly she closed up to his side and they started walking away from the clearing. Elena realized that he could have taken them back to the house by Apparition, but for some reason he seemed to prefer to walk. She didn’t object, but sensed that something had changed. He had his head down and seemed to be deep in thought, but the silence between them was, in a tentative way, companionable.

Suddenly Elena stopped short. Snape turned around to her. To his surprise, he saw her smile and it was her genuine, radiant smile again, the one that came up to her eyes.

“What is it?” he asked.

She gave a low throaty laugh. “You know, Professor, I’m such a stupid bitch.”

“If you insist”, he dead-panned.

“No, seriously”, she went on, suddenly lively. “I’ve been racking my brain for a happy memory … when it was really so obvious!”

Now he was interested. “You think you might try again?”

She grinned to his face, nodding fervently.

“Well, then”, Snape prompted her, “you know what to do.”

He stepped away a bit in order to be better able to observe. She had drawn her wand, a look of concentration on her face. For a few seconds, she closed her eyes, no doubt recreating the happy memory she had finally found. Then she opened them, raised her wand and cried “ _Expecto Patronum_!”

A silver jet shot out of the tip, sneaked up high into the air and exploded into a silvery bird. It was a raven. Flapping its wings forcefully and opening its beak for an inaudible caw, it seared higher and higher towards the top of the trees, circled a few times and then disappeared into nothingness. Elena and Severus watched its path, both suddenly looking solemn.

“Now, Professor”, said Elena with her broad cat-just-ate-a-canary grin, “was that a Patronus or what?”

“That was … quite a Patronus”, he agreed. And he smiled. Elena had to look at him twice to be sure she hadn’t had a hallucination, but there it was: a faint albeit unmistakable smile. She had a desperate urge to congratulate him on it.

“How about we go to a pub and celebrate?” she suggested instead.

He merely shot her a glance that said enough. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant glance, though. “Let’s call it day”, he said simply and made to walk on.

“You know, I was sure my Patronus would be a cat”, she said mystified, joining him with a jaunty spring in her step.

“Me, too”, he admitted.

“I wonder why it wasn’t.”

He merely shrugged, although she had the strong feeling that he could have told her more. She stopped in her tracks.

“Let’s see yours now”, she demanded.

“No”, he said curtly, making no attempt to slow down his pace.

“Please, Professor.”

“No.” It sounded definite, but by now Elena was so full of glee about her own Patronus that she wouldn’t, couldn’t let go.

“Come on! I promise I won’t laugh if it’s a groundhog!”

That was another thing she had learnt about him. Whenever he refused to do anything at her request, she only needed to suggest that he was either afraid or couldn’t do it or that the outcome would be ridiculous. He didn’t like to be the laughing stock. This vanity was his greatest weakness.

He stopped and rolled his eyes. “Back to boisterous, are we?” he grumbled, but took out his wand.

Then, with a gesture that Elena thought was rather flamboyant, he waved it and intoned “ _Expecto Patronum_!”

A silver doe shot forth from the tip of his wand. It was slender, graceful and it galloped swiftly away from them towards the clearing they had left behind, where it stopped at looked back at them wistfully before taking off into the thick of the woods. Elena looked at Snape who observed the doe’s path and there was a strange glittering in his black eyes.

“It’s beautiful!” she exclaimed enthusiastically, observing the vanishing silvery gleam. “Quite feminine, too.” Immediately, she bit her tongue. She shouldn’t have said that. He was quite a bit macho, after all, and would probably take it as an insult.

However, Snape surprised her there. Instead of scowling, he simply looked at her with raised eyebrows, said a simple “Yes” and walked away. The man was a riddle. With an inward groan, Elena hurried after him.

 

* * *

 

They walked side by side across a trampled-down meadow, not speaking, but once more the silence was companionable. Every now and then, Elena risked a short glance aside at his sharp profile and his tightly knit eyebrows. Again, he seemed to move something around in his head. She didn’t expect him to tell her about it, but she was proven to be wrong once more.

“I have been thinking”, he volunteered after a while, “about your little lecture on modern physics.”

“Yes?”

“If magic was just a means of manipulating energy, as you claim, that would make a wand nothing more but an instrument of focussing said energy.”

“I agree.”

“It would also mean that, in theory, magic could be performed by anyone, provided they learnt how to.”

“Yes”, she nodded eagerly. “It is probably a dormant potential. Like intuition. Everybody has it, but no doubt some people have better access to it than others. And magical people merely have … well, an innate aptitude of finding said energy flow within themselves and using it.”

“So you’re saying that all human beings are wizards underneath?” Again, there was a palpable trace of irony in his voice. “Doesn’t sound right to me.”

“I know what you mean. But you mustn’t forget that for the Muggle world magic has for centuries been a thing that they could not integrate into their realities. They put it into a drawer labelled ‘superstition’ and were careful not to open that drawer under any circumstances. That, too, is human nature: when they didn’t yet understand why the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, they invented a god who steered a chariot of fire across the sky. A concept which later made it nearly impossible for them to believe that in fact the earth revolves around the sun, not the other way around. – Limited thinking, you see? The human mind is like a horde of cattle, always trampling along the same path. It takes time and great men – and women – to change their conceptions.”

A condescending smile appeared on his face although it was not unfriendly. “Aren’t you just trying very hard to reconcile your world with the wizarding world?”

“The wizarding world is my world now”, she pointed out. “I have jumped from one reality to the next in only one day, so isn’t it logical that I should try to reconcile them? See, if the wave-particle duality teaches us anything, then that an either-or approach always leads to a flawed outcome. It should really be an as-well-as approach. A notion which, I may add, is supported by Zen Buddhism. And as a wizard you have surely heard of Hermes Trismegistos?”

“Of course. His teachings are essential to potions. Polarity, ingredients rules by universal principles …”

“Universal”, she repeated, “there we have it.”

He looked at her hard then. “What d’you have got to do with Hermes Trismegistos?”

“I’ve been interested in his teachings long before I met you”, she said simply. “It’s the best concept I have so far been able to find to reconcile me with the world.”

Snape considered that. “Is that what you want? To be reconciled with the world?”

“Yes”, she admitted. “Isn’t that what everyone wants? To understand why things are as they are, why there is suffering, why there is all this blatant unfairness? There would be no philosophy but for that question.”

“Have you found an answer?” he asked with a twitch around the corners of his mouth.

“Of course not”, she scoffed. “But Hermes Trismegistos soothes me.”

He let that pass, said nothing. However, a thoughtful expression remained on his face which on the whole looked more relaxed now and there was even a semblance of friendliness. Elena made up her mind to use the moment.

“You know, only because I enjoy to think aloud sometimes doesn’t mean I’m irresponsible …”

He turned his head sharply. “Is this about the Time-Turner again? – Get over it.” The tone of his voice was at the same time dismissive and calm. Elena realized that it was no good to start an argument right now, so she sighed and kept on walking by his side without saying anything more on the subject.

When they turned into Spinner’s End, Elena noticed two figures in the street leading up to their respective houses. Two men, one of them strolling aimlessly, the other one fiddling around with a bike that had a buckled wheel. Something about them was off.

“You see those guys?” she whispered to Snape.

He nodded. “They’re Aurors”, he said quietly.

“What are Aurors?”

“Supposed elite staff for scourging the world of dark forces.” There was scorn in his voice. “The Ministry sent them here to protect me.”

“Well, that’s not too bad, is it? For a moment I thought they were Death Eaters …”

“Death Eaters would never wear Muggle get-up”, Snape informed her. “They are too proud for that.”

“Too snobbish, you mean?”

“Maybe that, too. – I just hope that these two won’t cause more damage than they can prevent.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I know one of them”, he made a small inconspicuous gesture towards the man pottering about with the bike. “He used to be a student. Pretty mediocre. If that’s the stuff Aurors are made of these days, I’d rather protect myself.”

They had arrived on Snape’s doorstep and before Elena got in, she couldn’t resist catching the eye of the man who was just strolling past. She winked and gave him a thumbs up. If inwardly she hadn’t already been celebrating her first Patronus, his confused look would have made her day.

 

* * *

 

Snape preceded Elena into his sitting room, as always confident that she would follow. The idea that he might let her go in first, which would have been the gentlemanly thing, didn’t even occur to him. Elena was a little miffed. There she had been, thinking that he’d finally noticed her, come to see more in her than just a wizardly duty he had reluctantly taken on. Snape had a way of dashing hopes the moment they arose. She had intended to tell him what the happy memory had been that had so gloriously helped her to produce that Patronus, but now she made up her mind not to. He simply didn’t deserve it, and on top of that, the fact that he had taken the Time-Turner quite rankled.

She would just snatch her handbag from the couch and go home. After all, they had been studying and practicing for nearly three hours. Dusk was already settling over Spinner’s End. She was desperate for a cool shower and the rest of Anna’s spicy meatballs that were waiting in the fridge.

Happily imagining how much she would enjoy those meatballs, she got a shock when she bumped into Snape’s back. He had suddenly stopped in his tracks, standing as if frozen. “Oh, sorry …” Elena started, but she realized that he didn’t hear her. He only stood and stared. Stared towards the window where a black owl was sitting on the outside sill, looking at him intently and with an air of gloom.

She had seen that owl before, at least twice actually when it had arrived during their lessons. It had always provoked a particularly dark scowl on Snape’s face, but since that was his favourite facial expression, she hadn’t thought much of it. Now, however, standing so close to him she picked up something although she didn’t know how nor where it came from and what it was. It made her stomach churn.

Snape shook himself out of his state and walked over to the window. The twitch in his gait that she had sometimes noticed was now more pronounced than ever. He opened the window, relieved the owl of a piece of parchment that was tied to its foot and savagely pushed the bird from the sill.

“Hey, what’s that owl done to you?” she challenged him, ever the advocate of animals. However, he didn’t react and for all she could tell her words hadn’t reached him. His attention was on the parchment which he unrolled and read with an ever darkening expression. Elena watched him uncomfortably.

Suddenly, there was a growl. It took her a fraction of a second to realize that it had come from Snape’s throat. It matched that of an angry animal and seamlessly went over into a massive swear word that made Elena’s frequent ‘fucks’ and ‘craps’ appear pathetic. Before she knew it, he had hurled the piece of parchment away. With a jerk he wheeled around, kicking at the chair by his desk in the process and sending it skidding across the wooden floorboards before it bumped into the fireplace. Elena held her breath, too impressed to say anything. Now he was in the middle of the room, pacing back and forth like a tiger in a cage and murmuring unintelligibly with an expression of intense anger and hatred on his face. Elena thought she heard something like ‘will this never, never end?’, but she could have been wrong.

The room was thick with his foul mood. The man had the power of turning any kind of atmosphere sour if he wanted to. Elena’s throat constricted and she quietly went over to the corner of the sitting room where the offending piece of parchment had landed. Carefully she picked it up and her eyes flew over dark-red letters that looked conspicuously as if written in blood ...

_Snape …_

_You didn’t think I have forgotten about you, did you? Did you trick yourself into believing that it was over, that my repertoire wouldn’t extend beyond a couple of thugs doing a botched job? No, bloody traitor, I am still here, watching and waiting for the right moment which will come eventually. Until then, I will savour every minute, preparing my revenge on the man who destroyed my life and left it empty, devoid of joy and hope._

_You have extinguished everything that was precious to me and for that you are going to bleed. Make no mistake, Snape, I am a match to you in every respect as I will shortly demonstrate. You will see that neither your friend Applethorne’s clever contraptions nor the two Auror dimwits patrolling outside your house will be able to help you. Not even your pretty Muggle friend who is so endearingly bolshy. Does she know about your past? Has she any idea who she got herself involved with – a traitor, a murderer and someone who thoughtlessly hands over innocents to a horrible ordeal by fire?_

_In any case, what you and she experienced that night was only a very mild taste of things to come. I will strike at the moment when you least expect it. I will make sure you’ll die a slow and agonizing death. Take my word for it and know that I am a man of honour who shall never break his promise._

_Yours sincerely – your most ardent Admirer._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	16. Mary Jane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Chapter contains mild drug abuse. Don't do this at home ...

**Mary Jane**

 

He viciously ripped the parchment out of her hand.

“Indulged your curiosity, have you?” he growled.

Elena stared at him apprehensively. The hot anger she had witnessed a moment ago had been deep-frozen within a matter of seconds. Unconsciously, she took a step back to escape its cutting edge. Her stomach was queasy, not only because of the menacing words that she had just read but chiefly from the waves of cold hatred that emanated from Snape as if in waves. She watched him crumple up the parchment in his hand and stuff it into the pocket of his robes.

“This must cease.” His voice was dangerously low, almost a whisper.

“What do you mean?” she asked anxiously.

“The lessons. They must stop.”

Elena felt her heart sinking. She wanted to cry out in protest – ‘What am I supposed to do without you?’ – but didn’t. This was not about her. With a jolt, she realized that the reality of those blood-ink words had only just hit home with Snape.

“Why?” she asked weakly, anticipating the answer.

Sure enough, he gave her a look as if he thought she was mad. “You’ve read it and should know better than to ask such stupid questions”, he hissed.

“You’ve been getting those letters all along”, she argued, “you’ve even been attacked in your own house. It didn’t keep you from going on with teaching. Why now?”

“Have you gone blind or dumb?” he flared. “He knows you’re coming here.”

Elena tried to control her breathing. It was hard to stand up to him when he was like that, cold, sinister and formidable. It took a considerable portion of her courage to do so. “Not so difficult to find out. Probably the entire neighbourhood knows by now. You must have realized this before or …”

“Well, maybe I didn’t!” he bellowed. “Maybe I underestimated him.”

“Or her.”

“What??”

“Could be a woman, couldn’t it?”

“Spare me your women’s lib crap! Fact is, it’s not safe for you to be here. So I suggest you pack up your things and go. Now! And don’t come back until …”, he trembled with irritation, “… I don’t know … further notice.”

“If you’re alive by then.”

“Thanks for reminding me”, he gave her a malicious lopsided grin, turned away from her and the pacing started again. Elena watched him worriedly. She had no intention of collecting her stuff, but neither did she dare say any more. For quite a while she stood there like a fool, unable to move until he jerked around at her once more.

“What is it? Why are you still here?”

“Professor …”

“Don’t ‘Professor’ me!” he snapped, a tremor in his voice. “Just – _for once!_ – do as I tell you!”

“No!” she shouted, considerably louder than she had intended. However, it was no use staying on the defence with him. If she was going to make a point, she had to fight with weapons he understood. “You’re being unreasonable”, she added with a quiver in her voice.

“ _Unreasonable??_ ” he screamed, now on the verge of going ape-shit. “Have you become mad? What do _you_ know? You’ve only lived in my world for about five minutes!”

“And yet I’m not a babe in the woods any longer”, she held against.

He wanted to interrupt her with a new stream of abuse, but she was faster. She took a quick step towards him which startled and threw him off balance a little. Her eyes fixed his and she tried to put as much force into her words as she could.

“Only a few weeks ago _I_ wanted to quit”, she reminded him. “Because of the attack? You told me then – not once, but at least three or four times – that it had nothing to do with me, that I was just unlucky I got involved …”

“Well, I changed my mind!” he shouted. Having lost his usual silkiness, Snape was able to outdo a hysteric harpy. “And I want you to leave this house _instantly_!”

They stared at each other, Snape’s eyes sparkling with wrath, Elena’s searching. Slowly, she folded her arms across her chest and took a deep breath.

“I’m not going”, she informed him. “You’ll have to manhandle or hex me out of the door if you want me gone. And for your information, your shouting doesn’t scare me.” She hoped the lie wasn’t too obvious. “No way I’ll leave.”

 

* * *

 

Snape gaped at the stubborn woman in front of him. Her eyes were dark and she didn’t retreat, seemingly unfazed by his outbreak. How annoying she was at times, how recalcitrant and disrespectful! But at the same time, her fearlessness impressed him. Usually, people went out of their way to avoid him when he threw a tantrum. It was a fact he had come to accept and to use liberally in order to run over anyone who dared to bother him. Didn’t work very well on her, though. So he did the obvious thing and went for her pride. “Don’t delude yourself into thinking you’re being courageous”, he said scathingly, “when really you’re just being utterly stupid!”

“Be that as it may”, she replied evenly, “I’m not leaving you alone in this.”

He let out a frustrated groan. She didn’t understand at all. But then, how could she? She had no idea of what was going on inside him and that at the moment he had read the new parchment with the reference to her, a monster of the past had stuck out its ugly head. She didn’t know that he couldn’t – wouldn’t – put another woman in mortal danger because of his own sins. He had been foolish before. He should have put a stop to their little meetings immediately after the first attack, given in to her wish to discontinue lessons. However, he had been selfish. Finally he admitted to himself how much these lessons meant to him, that they had become a kind of lifeline in his present situation, holed up as he was in his hated home, bored to death. At the back of his mind, he heard the scalding words of an old man – _‘You disgust me’_ – referring to him, to his egotism. Dumbledore had been right. He only ever thought about himself first, with regret setting in far too late. Now he was disgusted, too, and it made him angry.

“What do you think you might possibly do for me?” he hissed, trying hard to sound offending. “Cast a bloody Patronus should I need one? Hold my hand?”

There was a flicker in Elena’s eyes. “Ever heard of moral support?” she pressed forth between her teeth. “But I guess you’re above that, huh?”

Severus snorted and turned away from her. He walked over to the window and stared out of it without noticing the darkness that was fast coming on. Instead, he sent out his mind, probing, searching for a presence, for someone watching and waiting to strike … all those deserted houses out there … all these dark corners and crevices … anyone could be lurking in the shadows and maybe, if he probed just enough … Of course, he found nothing. And with that realization, his anger ebbed away and only left what was lurking underneath – the well-known, nauseous feeling of fear that he had thought he wasn’t ever going to have again after the Dark Lord had left this world …

“It’s true this may not be about you”, he conceded flatly, “but don’t you realize how dangerous it is to be near me?”

She reacted promptly to his change of mood. “Maybe you’re not seeing this right now, but to me it looks as if this guy’s just fishing.”

He turned around. “I beg your pardon?”

“He wrote all this to flush you out. To scare you. This is why he mentions people close to you and claims to know how you protect your house. He wants to give you the feeling he’s close so that you’ll become nervous and make a mistake. However, what he mentions in this parchment is more or less common knowledge …”

Snape considered this. With the worst of his anger almost gone, he had to concede that she might be right, that maybe he had overreacted. For weeks now, he had blocked the menace of the bloody threats from his mind, belittling them, trying hard not to take them too seriously. The recent parchment, however, had been the final straw. All the pent-up doubt and apprehension had bubbled over and kept him from properly thinking things through.

Anyone in the wizarding world might know that Callistus Applethorne was an old friend of his family and it was not difficult to guess that the alerting system installed in his, Snape’s, house came from the old man’s shop on Knockturn Alley. That Elena visited him regularly was, in fact, not a secret at all anymore. And as for the ‘Auror dimwits’ … well, they didn’t exactly do a good job at behaving inconspicuously. So maybe Elena was right and his hidden enemy had only tried to upset him so that he would let down his guard … All of a sudden, Snape felt a little stupid.

Elena cleared her throat. “I don’t want to be a smartass, Professor …”

“Ah, really?” His black brows quirked.

“… but maybe it would be more constructive to focus on what can be learnt from that parchment?”

“And what, pray tell, did you learn other than that there is a madman out for blood on the loose?” It was another one of his coping strategies to drown fear and shame in sarcasm. Elena acted as if she hadn’t heard the sneering.

“Well, he is referring to the past, isn’t he? Claims you destroyed his life, that he has lost ‘all joy and hope’ because of you. This is a personal vendetta.”

“Thanks for your insight but I could have figured that out myself”, he growled.

Elena rolled her eyes. “No idea at all what you might have done, how you may have destroyed his life?”

Snape sighed. “You don’t understand”, he lamented.

“Make me understand.”

He sighed. “I already told you. I did some things … had to do them … during the war.”

“Spy work”, she whispered. It wasn’t a question.

He shot her a curious look. “Yes.”

“You mean … what he is referring to might have been … collateral damage?”

Snape inhaled sharply, then nodded. He closely monitored her face, but its expression didn’t change.

“But you can’t think of any specific incidence which may have been the cause for these threats?”

“You still don’t understand”, he said, exasperated. “We were at war. I used Occlumency, for the most part, to betray one of the most accomplished Legilimens of the wizarding world …” He interrupted himself when he saw her confused look. “Legilimency means intruding into somebody’s mind, while Occlumency is the art of counteracting this. In order to protect certain thoughts and ideas, it is sometimes inevitable to give up other information that seems less important at the time. Giving it up, however, may still have … consequences.”

“I see”, she said, looking down on the wooden floorboards.

“I cannot possibly tell”, Snape went on, “what I may have given up which might have destroyed someone’s life. It could be anything, really.”

An uncomfortable silence ensued. Snape wondered what she was thinking, whether she judged him. If so, she gave no indication, but let the subject drop.

“There’s another thing I’ve noticed”, she said, “though it’s only intuition and I cannot really justify it. – I think this may be about a woman.”

He looked up with a frown. “What makes you think that?”

She shrugged. “Like I said, it’s intuition. All this talk about revenge, destroying of lives … I get the feeling that deep down he is very hurt. Like somebody died who meant a lot to him. Woman or child, I’d say. Does that ring a bell?”

He glowered, which probably meant ‘no’.

“Just think about it”, she said hastily. “Maybe something will come up. – And then there’s another thing. He writes about an ‘ordeal of fire’. That suggests that whoever was so precious to him was burnt. That could be important.”

Snape looked down at his hands, clenching and unclenching them. “It is also inconclusive”, he murmured. “In certain circles, setting houses on fire was a preferred method of scaring, of killing even.” Or rather, Bellatrix Lestrange’s preferred method. Just how many houses and huts had he seen her ignite, screaming with mad laughter, dancing her witch’s jig in front of the flames.

“Food for thought”, Elena said encouragingly.

Snape scowled at her. He resented this attitude of, her playing the reasonable adult while he was going to pieces. However, he had to admit that she had put him back on track. His anger had ebbed away. The fear was still there, but it had lost its edge. His fingers were only very slightly shaking right now.

As if by reflex, he went over to the low table that held his Fire Whiskey. The glass beside it was a little dusty and sticky, but he didn’t care and wiped it on his robes. He was just about to pour himself a generous amount when he heard her tsk.

“What now?” he growled, jerking around.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

He frowned sternly. “To tell you the truth, I think it’s an excellent idea. And I don’t know what it is to you.”

“Nothing, really”, she smiled at him ruefully. “I’m just thinking that you shouldn’t make a habit of drowning your sorrows in alcohol.”

“Sorrows?” he repeated with a scoff. “You think that’s the right word in the present situation?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I understand very well that you need something to take your mind off things …”

“How exquisitely generous of you”, he remarked ironically.

“… I’m only questioning the means”, she went on. “If I’m not wrong, you’re quite into the booze already, aren’t you?”

Snape stared at her. She was unbelievable. He should have thrown her out instead of letting her talk to him, he realized now. Lately, he was becoming soft, probably from all this boredom. In his better days, he would never have let a Muggle change his state of mind and emotion and most certainly, he wouldn’t have allowed someone like her to counsel him on his drinking habits. “You’re not my mother”, he said and had to admit that it came out a little lame.

“Thankfully”, she breathed, “because I bet your mother wouldn’t have a better suggestion.”

“Whereas you do?”

“Yes.”

A little taken aback but nevertheless intrigued, Snape watched her walk over to the sofa where her handbag was still sitting beside a threadbare cushion. She rummaged in it and finally got out a few items which she set down on the coffee table. A tobacco pouch, a slim carton of cigarette papers and, finally, a small plastic bag holding what seemed to be dried herbs of a bright green colour. Elena sat down on the sofa and held up the plastic bag. “You know what that is?”

He came over, took the little bag from her hand, opened the plastic zip a little clumsily and held the package to his substantial nose. “Marijuana”, he snarled, “do you think I’m stupid?”

“Nope”, she replied matter-of-factly, “never said such a thing.”

He handed the package back to her with a crooked grin. “Isn’t that illegal in your original sphere?”

“Good thing I’m a witch now”, she remarked cheerfully.

“And that’s your suggestion of an alternative?” He seemed doubtful, looking longingly at the bottle of Fire Whiskey.

“Yeah”, she said curtly. “Unless, of course, you share the wide-spread Muggle paranoia on weed?”

Another snort. “Of course not. It’s just a plant.”

“My reasoning exactly”, she replied with a contented sigh and went to work.

Snape was sceptical at first, but then he drew over an armchair and sat down opposite her. Attentively he watched her fold the paper and crumble up the weed. Her fingers worked swiftly and deftly, and he distinctly wondered why she didn’t show an equal dexterity when dealing with potions ingredients. She rolled the weed and tobacco in the paper, smoothed the joint and closed it with a quick lick of her tongue, rolling it some more until she was satisfied with the result.

“I’m really past that age, you know”, Snape remarked.

“Which is exactly the reason why it will hit home much more than your stupid Fire Whiskey.”

“And make me easy prey to intruders.”

“You think finishing that bottle over there wouldn’t?”

“You _are_ a smartass.”

“Thanks, Professor.” Elena smiled sweetly, took her wand and a small flame appeared at its tip. She lit the joint and dragged purposefully a few times before she handed it to him. He hesitated before he took it.

“You do that a lot?” he wanted to know.

“Occasionally. I’m a student, after all, so there is some degree of moral obligation.” She tilted her head and looked at him teasingly. “Go ahead. I’ll be there in case you get into a funk.”

Snape glowered, resenting the suggestion that he might get scared. He looked at the joint in his hand sternly, then back at Elena. The thought crossed his mind that he shouldn’t let her prance around in his life like that. Certainly, he shouldn’t allow her to get him to do things he had never done before and had never had any intention of doing. He saw her wide conspiratorial grin, he also saw that she was daring him. What, did she really believe he was afraid of a common hemp plant?

Gingerly, he lifted the spliff to his lips and puffed carefully. His lungs weren’t used to smoke and he tried hard to swallow a cough. Elena watched him during the process, her eyes dancing.

“Are you going to tell me you never did this?” she asked.

“I didn’t”, he stated simply and took another drag before he handed the joint back to her.

“Hooray, that’s going to be good!” she crowed.

Snape shot her a suspicious look. She seemed to enjoy herself immensely, almost to an extent that made him want to dash her enthusiasm. However, his mind got hung up on a different detail. He wondered why she was still here, why she so doggedly insisted on staying by his side when he would have expected anyone of sound mind – specifically a timid Muggle girl such as her – to have fled the scene. Was she, in fact, stupid? Or did she get a kick out of the danger?

Before he could pursue these thoughts any further, something happened inside is head. It was a jolt and he felt as if his skullcap had detached itself from the rest of his body, circling a few inches above him. His eyes went out of focus and he resisted the urge of letting is head fall back against the rest of the armchair. It was a feeling not altogether unpleasant, though unusual.

What had he been about to say? He was sure there had been something – a question he had been pondering – but he couldn’t remember it. He watched her drawing on the joint with a contented expression on her face. There was an uneasiness in his chest, he felt a little manipulated as if she had gotten one over him. While he was trying to put words to this feeling, he found that he didn’t care. He sighed, gave in and let his head fall back. It was spinning, softly, soothingly. His hands didn’t tremble anymore. If truth be told, he felt fine.

 

* * *

 

Elena watched Snape with amazement and a growing feeling of glee. Offering him weed had been a wild idea and a desperate resolve when she had seen him so upset. Never had she actually expected him to accept it, but when she handed the joint back to him he took it without hesitation. Within a matter of seconds, his eyes had become blood-shot and there was a dreamy expression in them. Why, he was dancing with Mary Jane already!

It _was_ good weed. Elena started to feel dizzy herself and quirky thoughts tumbled through the landscape that was her mind. If there had ever been an opportunity to find out more about him, to get Severus Snape to talk, this was it. She had to go about it carefully, though, ease him into it, preferably without him being any the wiser.

“Don’t you want to know what my happy memory was?” she said after a while.

Snape who had been staring at the ceiling lazily turned his head in her direction. “If you insist on telling me …”, he said with a sigh.

“Can’t you guess?”

“No.”

She smiled at him radiantly. “Well, of course it was the moment you told me I was a witch. Wasn’t that obvious?”

The corners of his mouth twitched a little. “Not so obvious, or you would have come up with it right away”, he reasoned.

She grinned. “You absolutely have to turn everything into a reproach, don’t you?”

“Maybe I don’t want you to become too giddy”, he suggested.

“Oh, yeah, God forbid”, Elena said ironically and tilted her head, watching him. Suddenly, something occurred to her and she didn’t know what exactly made her say it. “By the way, Professor, I have a confession to make …”

Snape looked up suspiciously. “Do I want to hear this?”

“Maybe not.” She took a deep breath. “‘Cause, you see, I know everything about you.”

He jerked his head as if an irksome fly had settled on his nose. “What?”

“You know. Your story.”

“You do?” Now the black eyes opened up wide, but there was no real surprise in them. Probably he had already guessed.

There was a silence. Elena looked down on her lap which had started to feel very naked all of a sudden, and Snape let his head slowly sink against the backrest again. He sighed. “Lupin?” he asked simply.

“Not just him. Although I _did_ meet him in Diagon Alley.”

Now why did this make her feel like a cheat? Snape didn’t react for a while, then he managed a bitter snort. “The old werewolf lost no time, did he?” he whispered.

“What do you mean?” she asked, shifting uncomfortably on the sofa.

However, Snape made a quick gesture with his hand that could be interpreted as fatalistic. The bitter expression stayed on his face, though. “Why tell me?” he asked.

“That I know about you? – Well, it suddenly occurred to me that not telling you wouldn’t be honest.”

“You consider yourself honest?”

“Mostly. – Not always.”

He scrutinized her with his black irises that were surrounded by reddish whites. “Begs a question”, he remarked.

“What question?”

“Why you are still here. Now that you know about my past … transgressions.”

A variety of things came to her mind. At first she wanted to tell him that his story wasn’t only that of a dark past, but also one of staggering bravery. However, she sensed that he would merely wave that away, that he didn’t want to hear it. She took another deep breath. “Well. Looks like I care about you.”

His answer was a raucous laugh. It was the second laugh she had heard from him that day, it had a ridiculing note to it and yet it gave her a pleasant shiver while she realized that it became him and removed the lines of frown and bad temper from his face. Stating that it made him handsome would have been an exaggeration. It was, however, a marked improvement.

“I’m glad you’re having fun”, she said. “But it’s alright, Professor, ignore the positive. After all, it might make your life a little easier and we can’t have that, can we?”

His eyebrows quirked. “You’ve figured me out, huh?”

“Oh, I’m still far from that”, she said truthfully. “But I’m trying.”

Another raucous chuckle, then silence. They passed the joint back and forth, the pungent incense of marijuana filled the room to the brim and laziness descended over both of them, making them tired, dreamy, but also very peaceful.

 

* * *

 

“Can I ask you something, Professor?”

The inevitable sigh. “If you must.”

“Why do you stay cooped up here in your house? After all I know now, it’s safe to say that a lot of people in the wizarding world are mighty grateful to you. Yet you act like a criminal, lying low as if you did something shameful.”

Snape didn’t even bother to look at her. “The so-called ‘public opinion’ is a fickle thing”, he explained tiredly. “It changes constantly. Forgive me if I don’t trust people who used to hate and fear me for decades and now want to shake my hand in feigned gratitude for my supposed heroic acts …”

“ _Supposed_ heroic?”

Now he trained his out-of-focus eyes on her. For a while, he said nothing, merely considered her as if he tried to ascertain how much she could take. “What I did wasn’t heroic”, he said flatly. “If anything, it was redemptive. I had to do it in order to … set things right.”

“And you did? Set things right?”

“The dead are still dead.”

Elena could only guess what that meant. Albus Dumbledore, probably. And even more importantly, Lily Potter. So it was all true. But then, who could really tell? In any case, she suddenly understood that his actions were far more determined by regret and bad conscience than she had given him credit for.

“Plus”, he volunteered unexpectedly, “I feel safer here in my house than out and about.”

“Even after that parchment?”

He made an inconsequential gesture. “Nobody can help me with that.”

“But maybe you’re wrong there. Wouldn’t it be better to go to the Ministry?”

“What for?”

“Well, first of all to let them know. Also you might be able to find out a few things.”

“Like what?”

“I’m sure they’d let you talk to those two thugs. For all I know, they are still in the Ministry dungeons.”

He looked up at her now, puzzled, which told Elena that he hadn’t thought of it. “I’m not a Ministry official”, he snarled, though a bit uncertainly.

“You’re Severus Snape”, she countered. “The way I see it, you can do anything. You’d just have to ask. – But you don’t like asking people for favours, do you?”

“No”, he admitted plainly.

“Demand it, then. You’ll get away with it.”

He looked thoughtful.

“In any case”, Elena went on, “you have to do something. You can’t just wait here until he gets to you.”

“Alright, alright”, Snape murmured.

Elena let the subject drop. She could tell from the ensuing brooding silence that he was thinking about her words. It revved her up quite a bit to realize that he took her seriously and that they were actually having something close to a conversation. A stoned conversation, granted, but with him you had to be grateful for small mercies. She racked her brain for what to say next. There was no way she was letting this opportunity go.

“Why did you become a Death Eater?”

She must be mad asking him that. The weed had ate up all her inhibitions and her tongue had become quicker than her mind. Elena was almost certain that he would flare.

However, the weed had its effect on Snape, too. He let out a drawn-out sigh, but other than that he didn’t move in his armchair, certainly not jerk with irritation as per usual. He was even too tired to scowl. “Because I was smart and eager for knowledge that only the Death Eaters could provide.”

“You mean dark arts?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s the reason?” she asked, suspiciously narrowing her eyes.

“It was one of a range of reasons”, he said lazily. “You see, it has always been my contention that the dark arts are as valid a branch of magic as any. I still hold that view. If you want to study magic in earnest, you can’t block out the dark arts. If you do, your learning will be incomplete.”

“But surely the dark arts were a problem in your recent war.”

“Only because humans misuse it, it doesn’t mean that the art is bad per se.”

“It’s the atomic-bomb discussion all over again”, remarked Elena.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, nuclear fusion per se is a great achievement which can have a lot of benefits. But that’s only one side of it. The other side has led a great man to say ‘I’ve become death’. I’m sure you have heard about Hiroshima?”

He nodded. “So your point is that my argument in favour of the dark arts is thwarted?”

“A little one-sided, maybe. Is knowledge really all you wanted to achieve with it?”

“Knowledge”, he said, “and power.”

“You were interested in power?”

“Yes.”

“Are you still?”

“Yes.” He paused. “Although I’d go about it differently.”

“Is it true that you were dead?” she asked.

His stoned eyes swept over her face briefly.

“For all I know”, was the simple answer. His defences were down now. The cracks in the ceiling seemed to hold a particular fascination for him as he didn’t take his eyes off them, and while focussing on them he did not seem to notice the cracks that appeared in his own armour anymore. Gradually, he was even forgetting to stonewall. Elena struggled hard to control her excitement.

“You don’t remember anything?” she whispered.

“No.”

She groaned inwardly. With his monosyllables, keeping that string of conversation going was still incredibly hard work. Plus, she got the feeling that he hadn’t quite told her the truth.

“Would you have preferred to die?”

Silence again. He didn’t move, just stared into nothingness and a few very slow seconds passed before he finally spoke. “I wouldn’t have minded.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Maybe I don’t cling to life with such a fervour as most people seem to do. To be honest, I never found it all that fascinating to begin with.”

“Is that why you hate this house so much?”

His head jerked around once more, but there was a crooked smile on his face. Maybe he was relieved that she hadn’t asked about Death Eaters and dying this time. “That obvious, is it?”

“Yes. That’s another reason why I’m wondering. Why you insist on staying holed up in here.”

“It’s the only home I have right now. I’m no longer a teacher at Hogwarts.”

“So Hogwarts was your home?”

He nodded.

“Why don’t go back there?”

A dark shadow fell over his features. “The career of teacher was never my first choice”, he said, but it sounded evasive.

“Then why did you become one?”

“Because I was told to.”

“What would you have chosen as a profession if it had been up to you?”

Now there was no hesitation. “I’d have become a healer.”

“Oh, great, I bet you’d have a lovely bedside manner.” Elena couldn’t help giggling and was rewarded with another one of his dirty looks.

“Healers are not like your doctors”, he said lazily. “They are not required to conduct any interactions with their patients, certainly not in the way of encouraging or coaxing them. In fact, the healer works in his own sphere, he is more like a shaman in other cultures. In the wizarding world, patients know better than to bother a healer.”

“I see the appeal it has to you”, Elena remarked mirthfully. “So is that what you want to do? Become a healer at last?”

“Maybe.” At first, it seemed to be all he wanted to say, but then he amended. “Although I guess it’s too late for that.”

“Don’t tell me about too late. I’ve only been a witch for about two months and I’m constantly asking myself if I’ll ever be any good …”

“You’ll be fine”, he said with a sigh.

“I wasn’t fishing for compliments”, she explained quickly. “I was just saying that if it’s not too late for me to become a witch, it is certainly not too late for you to become a healer. Just think of what you did for my aunt. I’m pretty sure you’d be brilliant.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence”, he said ironically. “But it’s more complicated than that.”

“ _Could_ you go back to Hogwarts?”

“I guess. But I don’t know if I want to.”

“So you are at a crossroad?”

Now he sat up in his chair, looking at her with ill-disguised sarcasm. “What is this, a kind of … how do you call it? … life coaching?” He had acquired quite a bit of what he called ‘mugglisms’ lately. Elena wondered if he realized it. “I can assure you that I shall get by. I always have. There is no reason for you to worry about me.”

“I don’t worry about you”, she huffed. “I’m just interested in you.”

“Really?” he scoffed. Something within him seemed to be unable to accept affection.

“Yes, really”, she said pointedly. “And honestly, Professor, you constantly ridiculing my questions makes it very difficult to have a conversation with you.”

“Yeah?” Now he was grinning. “Then what exactly do you think we are having right now?”

She gazed at him in surprise. With one eyebrow cocked and his eyes glowing reddishly, he looked a bit off-kilter. However, she could see his point. “You’re right”, she said and awarded him a smile.

They both settled back in their seats and another weed-induced silence ensued, but this time it was not at all uncomfortable. A connection had been established, with a semblance of friendliness. Contentedly, Elena closed her eyes and let her vivid thoughts run free …

 

* * *

 

She woke up with a start and for a few worrying seconds she didn’t know where she was. Not in her bed, that much was clear. The padding beneath her body was far too hard and uncomfortable.

Then she remembered. Of course, Snape’s sitting room. She must have fallen asleep on the couch.

Quickly, Elena felt around for her wand. The room was pitch dark since the fire had gone out, but it wasn’t a problem a simple _Lumos_ couldn’t solve. The shapes of the sitting room were instantly bathed in a dim light, allowing for orientation. It also showed her that _he_ was still there, too, lolling in the same armchair as before, fast asleep and snoring softly.

Hastily, she collected her weed gear from the coffee table and stuffed it into her handbag. She got up from the sofa as quietly as she could. It wouldn’t do to still be here when he woke up. Elena was certain that he would hate the situation and although they had clearly become a little bit closer in the last few hours, she knew that she was to handle this hard-gained trust with care.

However, something occurred to her, and after battling with herself for a few seconds she found that it was something she couldn’t resist doing. Slowly and carefully, she approached the sleeping man in his armchair and looked down at him. His face was relaxed, mouth slightly open and he looked almost young. Elena let her eyes run over his slightly rising and falling chest, and further down along the fabric of his robes. The black garment hung loosely on his thin frame. Carefully, Elena reached down, not letting his face out of sight, while her hand probed carefully into his robes pocket. It was the left one, she remembered it clearly.

Sure enough, her fingers soon struck gold, or rather a cool and hard chain. She gripped it between thumb and index finger and, with her breath held, carefully extracted the Time-Turner until she had it safely in the palm of her hand. All the time, Snape didn’t move, sleeping soundly in Mary Jane’s arms.

Elena smiled as the slipped the Time-Turner into her handbag. Then, following an impulse, she picked up a woollen blanket that lay folded up by the end of the sofa. Carefully, she spread it over Snape. Again, he didn’t stir. Emboldened, she reached out and let the tips of her fingers glide over his hair. It was very fine, much more so than she had expected, but definitely greasy, as well. Still, she had to smile.

“Sweet dreams, Professor”, she whispered.

As quietly as she could, Elena snug out of the house.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	17. A Visit From Hogwarts

**A Visit from Hogwarts**

 

A pronounced pounding on the front door ripped Severus Snape out of his sleep. Bewildered, he stared around the sitting room for a few moments. It was empty, lighted by a greyish dawn. How on earth … But then he remembered. Elena and her marijuana.

Damn it! Struggling out of his armchair, his joints cracked painfully and his back was stiff up to the nape of his neck. Yet, he hadn’t slept that soundly for years.

Another pounding. With a quick glance, Severus checked the Foe Glass on the mantelpiece. It was blinking madly. Whoever was outside his door was clearly a magical creature. A cold fist banged into the pit of his stomach and he ignored his aching bones, swiftly drawing his wand instead and venturing towards the door.

He opened it and breathed with relief and exasperation. Standing outside was not a cloaked figure nor any other menacing presence. It was a house-elf, dressed in a spotty tea-towel, clutching a piece of parchment in its hand. Huge eyes stared anxiously at Snape.

“What do you want?” Severus snarled. His throat was parched, the words hardly came out. In addition, his eyelids felt swollen and sticky.

“Master Prince?” whispered the little elf, beholding him with awe.

Severus cocked an eyebrow. The two words the house-elf had spoken told him the whole story. He groaned inwardly. He had been expecting something like this for a while, but had always managed to push it to the back of his mind. “Come inside”, he hissed, casting a quick glance down the street, “quick, before anyone sees you.”

“Thank you, Master”, chirped the house-elf and hobbled over the threshold, “very gracious of you to let this here elf into your house. Gilly hear many gracious things about you. Mistress Prince is very proud to call you her son.”

“That’d be a first”, Severus murmured.

“No, no, Master. She say very often. Her son is a great wizard, she say, more powerful than any of the Princes. More powerful even than the Dark Lord.”

Snape closed the door. “So my mother sends you?”

“Yes, Master. To look after you.” The elf named Gilly handed Snape the parchment in his hand. “Mistress Prince write down everything here. Gilly is to help the master wherever she can.”

“I don’t need help”, Severus said morosely, but he feared that his protestations wouldn’t impress the house-elf at all.

“Mistress Prince say you do. Gilly is not to leave your side. Gilly has promised.”

Snape took the parchment from the house-elf’s hand and unrolled it. He immediately recognized his mother’s handwriting which wasn’t so different from his own, small and cramped, but easy to decipher for the schooled eye.

 _My little raven,_ the letter started and those three words were enough to make Severus roll his eyes. How long was it since she had called him that? Twenty years, maybe more? The endearment made him twitch uncomfortably and stirred something at the back of his mind.

_You have not replied to any of my owls. I can only assume that you are very busy at the moment since otherwise I do sincerely hope that word from your mother would warrant some kind of response. Although I can hardly wait to hear from you, I will exercise patience, hoping that sooner or later you will indulge me with news on your health and well-being._

_For the time being – and since you insist on ignoring my motherly worry for you – I have decided to make your life a little easier by sending you my invaluable Gilly. She is sworn to allegiance to the Prince family and thus, by extension, to you. Since you do not allow me to look after you, please at least accept her as a help around the house and as a little token of my love._

‘Not to mention as a spy’, Snape thought, glancing hesitatingly at the little elf that was looking at him adamantly.

_I am very proud of you, my sweetheart, and although you will not let me show you just how proud …_

He crumpled the parchment in his hand and stuffed it in his robes pocket. There was no need to read any more. Knowing his mother, the rest would be passive-aggressive admonition, glossed over by mollifying praise. Instead, he turned to the house-elf. “I trust she told you not to leave under any circumstances.”

The house-elf nodded ferociously. “She say the master need help. The master don’t like to clean. Gilly very good cleaner.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, I guess I can’t make you leave without upsetting you to the verge of hysteria …”

“No, you can’t, Master. Gilly will get very hysteric indeed and Mistress Prince will become very mad …”

“To be avoided at all cost”, Snape cut in. He surveyed the dusty hallway. Lately the squalor of the place – which had never irked him too much because he didn’t know it any better – had started to bother him, particularly when Elena was around. She didn’t seem to mind, but still … “You’ll find something to eat in the kitchen”, he informed the elf.

“That is very gracious, Master. Like Mistress Prince say, you are a very great and gracious …”

“Alright, that’s enough. After you’ve eaten, you can get to work right away. I’m sure you’ll find enough on your hand.”

“Yes, Master”, said the elf, looking pointedly around.

“Don’t upset the alarms, though”, he warned Gilly. “Careful at the entrances.”

“Gilly know how to be cautious”, the house-elf said with dignity. “She know Master Prince is important wizard …”

“The name is Snape”, he cut in. “We’ll see about the rest.”

With that, he left Gilly standing in the hallway and went back to his sitting room. The incense of the marijuana had become a stale and he went over to the window to let in the fresh morning air. In doing so, his eyes wandered over to Elena’s house. A car was sitting on the curb in front of it. It was a big one in dark green, but that was all he could tell since he had no interest in those overrated Muggle carriages. He wondered, however, what it was doing there.

Just as he was turning away from the window, the front door of the Crawford house opened and Elena came out, followed closely by a man Snape had never seen before. He was tall, dark, suave and hurried in front of her to open up the car. Elena looked up at that moment and Snape was sure she had spotted him standing by the window. The nod she gave was almost imperceptible. Yet, the companion picked up on it, turned around and gazed in Snape’s direction. Quickly, Severus withdrew from the window and closed the curtains. However, he continued to watch through a gap in them, saw Elena climb into the car and wondered about the man who came to collect her so early in the day. But then, why should he care about her Muggle acquaintances?

He turned away, rummaged in his robe pockets and brought out two parchments, that from his mother and the one written in blood. Quickly he stuffed both messages into the secret compartment in his desk. As always when doing so, he came face to face with Lily, or rather the fragment of her image. He felt the usual twist inside of him, but this time it was mellow rather than sharp. He smiled at her and found that the smile came easy to him. Lily smiled back. He closed the compartment.

Then he sat down in the armchair where he had spent the night and tried to remember the details of the previous evening. It was difficult. His memory was vague and gluey.

Damn Elena, tempting him to smoke that stuff of hers! What had he said to her? He remembered that they had spoken, for quite a long time, actually, but he couldn’t recall the details of their conversation. Hadn’t she told him that she knew everything about him now? Yes, indeed she had. Lupin had told her. Bloody wooing werewolf.

However, what else had been spoken Snape couldn’t come up with. He remembered only one thing, namely the atmosphere of that evening with Elena. Surprisingly, it had been agreeable. In fact, he had almost felt comfortable in her company which was strange considering that he didn’t know anymore what had been said. He tried to remember when he had last felt so at ease with anyone, but his mind wasn’t working properly yet. It was filled with sticky honey, sickly sweet and viscous.

Severus Snape closed his eyes and while he heard the house-elf pottering about in his kitchen, he allowed himself to dream a little. A silvery raven appeared in that dream. _My little raven_. His mouth twitched.

 

* * *

 

The ring of the doorbell was shrill and frantic. Elena stumbled down the stairs, almost tripping in the process. She had only just showered and dressed, her eyes, however, were still sticky and her head felt the same way. Not that it would grant her a reprieve. A new day had begun and with it the hectic juggling of dancing, studying and magic.

Before she approached the front door, she adjusted the Time Turner around her neck and dropped the hourglass below the neckline of her blouse. While doing so, she smiled to herself, feeling a little reckless. She wondered how long it would take Snape to figure out that she had taken it. She also wondered whether he would be very mad. Then she put on what she now called her ‘Muggle face’ and opened. To her surprise, it was Pawel Komarek who greeted her with his scallywag grin.

“Good morning, Elena”, he said cheerfully, “fancy a ride to the dancing school?”

“Oh, hello!” Over his shoulder, she caught a glimpse of a dark-green vintage Mercedes /8 parked in the street, its hood shining and looking completely at odds with the dismal Spinner’s End neighbourhood. She also spotted a few faces at windows curiously eyeing it. “I hope you locked that up well”, she remarked, pointing to the vehicle.

“It’s only a car”, said Komarek with a shrug.

“And a nice one, too. You don’t see that much around here.” She stepped back to let him in.

He wore black jeans, shiny shoes and a neatly ironed blue-and-black striped shirt, his brown hair was fashionably tousled with gel. Around his neck, a small silvery disc hung on a leather band. It had inscriptions that looked like Sanskrit and the item had something hippyish to it. He was playing at youthfulness, like so many men did in their midlife-crisis. Yet, he was handsome, you had to give him that. Elena wasn’t too thrilled to see him, though. After last night, she would have enjoyed the lone ride to the dancing school on the bus to think over her conversation with Snape and the things she had learned. However, Komarek was her client and she knew that politeness was of the essence.

“How thoughtful of you”, she purred. “Now we have time for a quick cuppa. Fancy one?”

“Of course. When in Rome, do as the Romans, no?” As always, his mood was cheerful. “Although I have to admit I never quite got into the habit of drinking tea …”

“There’s also coffee.”

“Now we’re talking!”

She ushered him into the kitchen which was in a bit of a disarray, as always when Anna wasn’t here. Keeping the house clean was so much more boring than dancing and magic.

Lux, her black cat, was sitting on the kitchen sill. When Komarek came in, he stood up and arched his back, looking suspicious. Elena’s dancing student extended a friendly hand towards the animal, which was, however, met by an infuriated hiss upon which Lux took off to destinations unknown.

“Oops, sorry for that”, Elena said, “he seems to have a bad day. – And sorry for the mess.”

Komarek waved it away good-naturedly and Elena went on to something that puzzled her. “How do you know where I live?”

“Sue told me”, he explained lightly. “Why? Do you mind? Have I intruded on your privacy?”

‘Yes, you have’, thought Elena, but she shook her head, smiled brightly and set out cups on the small kitchen table. The coffee from the machine had gone cold by now. She checked over her shoulder for Komarek, but since he didn’t look in her direction she touched her finger tips to the coffee pot and very quietly muttered a heating spell.

“Did you say something?” Komarek asked promptly.

“No, nothing …” Elena looked at the coffee pot in irritation. The heating spell hadn’t worked, the liquid was still cold. That was odd. She used it frequently. But maybe she was too distracted by Pawel’s presence and after all, she wasn’t able to openly use her wand, but had to rely on it working from the leather sheath around her arm. Probably, she wasn’t as good yet as she sometimes wanted to believe. “It’s just … the coffee has gone cold. I have to make a new one.”

“Take your time. The car has a nice acceleration”, said Komarek with some satisfaction. “Believe me, I have battled with myself if I should really drop in on you like that, but I thought you might appreciate it, seeing that I pass by on my way to the dancing studio anyway.”

Nothing to be said against that. He had, in fact, been thoughtful.

“How have you been?” asked Komarek. “You look tired. – Long night?”

“Yeah, you could say that. I met a friend.”

“A good friend?”

She mumbled an indeterminate assent. “We were … drinking. So I’m still a little …”

“… worse for wear?” He chuckled. “What I’d give to be so young again.” There was a wistful expression on his face.

“That sounds maudlin”, Elena observed, busying herself with the coffee powder.

“Sometimes I am”, he said with a shrug. “We are Continentals, we can admit such things, can’t we? We don’t always have to talk about the weather or the Royal Family or pretend to be just peachy.”

It made her laugh. “No, we don’t. – So what makes you sad?”

“Not really sad. It’s just the thought that when I was your age, I was already married and no longer able to go on drinking bouts with my friends. Looking back, it seems like I wasted the best years of my life.”

Elena remembered that he was divorced. It was the first time that he had referred to his broken marriage. “What keeps you from having a good time now?”

“Exactly.” Another charming grin. He just knew how to roll those out. “Hence, the dancing.”

In silence, they watched the coffee dripping into the pot, spreading its wonderful smell. Elena noticed how glad she was for another pick-me-up before the day started in earnest.

“Did she leave you or the other way around?” she asked when she poured the steaming coffee into the pots.

“She left.” For a moment, a shadow fell over his face. “Very suddenly, from one day to the next. No warning.”

“I’m sorry. Must have been hard for you.” She meant it, but in the next moment his grin was back and he waved it away.

“It was not meant to be.”

“Any new acquaintances?”

“You mean women?” He laughed. “Well, there are beautiful women everywhere. But no, nothing specific at the moment.” He tilted his head and looked at her. “What about you? Do you have a sweetheart?”

Elena swirled the coffee in her cup. She felt a little uncomfortable and didn’t know how to reply. She even found it a little impertinent that he had asked such a question, but then she had started on the subject. “Not really”, she finally said.

Komarek’s eyes were still on her face and the look he gave her was curious, earnest at first, but then he brightened with another smile. “You’re lying!” he laughed.

“What??”

“There _is_ someone”, Komarek stated, appearing very sure of himself. “You don’t want to tell because you don’t yet know what’s what, but there is someone you’re interested in. I can see it.”

“What are you, a psychic?” she murmured ironically.

“Nothing of the kind. Let’s just say I know a bit about life and people. Comes with age.”

Elena couldn’t help but return the smile. There was something irresistible about his manner that invited confidence and she knew she had to watch it.

“Tell me about that fellow”, Komarek went on, “what kind of guy is he? Does he deserve you?”

“Of course he doesn’t”, Elena fibbed, “do you men ever deserve us?”

“Good point. But then, you women do have a tendency of hooking up with arseholes, don’t you?”

“That’s a frequent complaint.”

“But not true of yourself?”

She frowned a bit, feeling uncomfortable. “I’d rather not say”, she replied coolly. “Like you said before: I don’t yet know what’s what.”

His expression changed and suddenly became embarrassed. “Am I too nosy? Because if I am, I’m sorry …”

“It’s alright”, she murmured and felt reconciled. He had such charm, it was hard to remain irritated with him for long.

“No, it isn’t”, he stated and shook his head, “I should have known you wouldn’t want to share your secrets with an old man such as me.”

“Oh, come on”, she giggled, “it’s not that at all …”

“No?” Suddenly he fixed her with another examining look. “You wouldn’t hook yourself to a much older man, now, would you? That would be such a waste …”

And with only a few words, he had overstepped the line between openness and obtrusiveness. Of course, his words had also hit home. She didn’t know how old Severus Snape was, but he couldn’t be much younger than Komarek himself, around forty probably. Somehow her dancing student had managed to extract another detail from her and he had managed to do so without a word from her, merely by watching her reaction. What was more, he had got her to finally admit to herself that if there was a man she was interested in, it was none other than Snape. This realization sent a shiver down her spine. She remembered the day before, the lesson, the Patronus, the Mary Jane. What would she have given to be able to think about all this now, to analyse it to pieces and to observe what it did to her. No such luck.

“Let me tell you something”, Komarek went on, still holding her gaze, “you should find yourself a boy your age. The older men may be interesting, but they have too much … baggage.”

She tilted her head and returned his gaze. “Then let me tell _you_ something”, she said as amiably as she could. “It’s none of your bloody business.”

There was a momentary pause during which they held each other’s gaze, then Komarek broke out into a bout of exhilarated laughter. “You’re right, you’re entirely right”, he exclaimed. “Don’t let me mess with you. You’re your own woman.”

Elena got up from the kitchen table. Once more, she was able to smile at him benignly. “Shall we go, then?” she asked.

 

 

A few minutes later, they were on their way out of the house. Walking towards the shiny Mercedes, Elena noticed a movement at the sitting-room window of Snape’s house. A dark-clad figure stood there, curtains enveloping it. Elena suppressed a smile and ever so slightly inclined her head before getting into the car, the door of which was held open for her by Komarek. When she looked again, the dark figure had vanished from the window, the curtains were drawn.

“Who was that?” Komarek asked when he got in on the driver’s side.

“Who?” she asked innocently, wondering at how astute he was.

“That man by the window in the opposite house? All in black …”

“Oh, that’s just a neighbour”, she said lightly. “Strange guy. Nobody talks to him.”

Komarek grinned while he turned the ignition key. “Takes all sorts to make a world, huh?”

“Absolutely”, she purred, drawing the belt.

 

* * *

 

 

“Master Snape? Wake up, Master, please?”

The squeaking was enough to make the dead rise.

“What is it?”

“There is a visitor for you, Master. From the school.”

He was up on his feet immediately. A slight nausea overtook him, albeit briefly. Damn … “From Hogwarts?” he slurred.

“Yes, Master, a Professor McDonald.”

“McGonagall”, Snape murmured. “Let her wait three minutes, then show her in.”

Gilly slouched away obligingly.

Severus fumed. Why today of all days? Had this bloody elf not been here, he could have pretended not to be at home. Why had she opened the door, anyway? This wouldn’t do, he had to send her away, that stupid thing would let Death Eaters into the house.

Then he happened to look about the sitting room. It had somehow changed while he’d been asleep. It was brighter. In fact, it had been thoroughly dusted. Just at the right moment. Maybe his mother _had_ done him a service.

Impatiently, he waited for the three minutes he had imposed to pass. He still felt sticky and mucked up, but didn’t see any necessity to check on his appearance in a mirror. That was the good thing about being ugly, it usually didn’t get much worse.

With a quick surveying glance, he checked that everything was in order. Of course, the weed had gone together with Elena, which was good. Dumbledore’s box, too, was safely stowed away – he wouldn’t have wanted McGonagall to see it and ask questions. Thinking of the box, however, made Severus remember something. His hand dove into the pocket of his robes. Rummaged. Rummaged some more. A frown appeared on his forehead. He tried the other pocket. Still nothing.

“Damn it!” he hissed, mystified, but after a second things began to fall into place. She had taken the Time Turner! Had most likely stolen it while he’d been lost in a stoned slumber! He felt anger swelling inside him. However, when he thought of her cheek, he found that it made the corners of his mouth quirk. Elena was obviously turning this into a weird little game. Very well! He’d be damned if he didn’t manage to get one over her …

His thoughts were interrupted by Minerva McGonagall striding into the room, straight-backed and spectacled as ever. She gave him a stern glance, came to a sudden halt and said nothing for a moment. Although he didn’t quite know why – maybe the late effects of the weed – he said nothing, either, and they just looked at each other. “Hello Minerva”, he as the host finally felt obliged to say, “what a pleasant surprise.”

The Hogwarts headmistress opened her mouth, then closed it again. “Severus”, she managed, “I must say, this is quite …”

“I know”, he muttered.

“I literally don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

She raised her eyebrows. “The last time we saw each other things didn’t exactly go well …”

He remembered. They had showered each other with spells and curses until Flitwick and Sprout had arrived, upon which he had been forced to take flight, quite literally. He cleared his throat. “Maybe apologies would be in order …”

She waved an impatient hand. “Let’s pretend we’ve got that out of the way. Things were as they were. We had our roles to play, I guess.”

“Indeed.”

Minerva McGonagall exhaled deeply. “I’m glad you’re well. Are you planning on keeping the beard?”

He scratched the wild growth in his face. “Maybe.”

“I daresay you’d scare small children with it.”

“So what’s new?”

The headmistress bit down on a smile. “I’m sure you know why I have come?”

“No”, he claimed, “but why don’t you take a seat? May I offer you tea?”

“Tea would be fine.” McGonagall accepted his invitation and sat down on the sofa, her eyes dashing about sternly. In spite of himself, Severus felt immensely relieved at the newly established cleanliness. He called Gilly, ordered tea – what was that house-elf here for, after all? – and sat down opposite his former colleague.

“How are things at Hogwarts?” he asked since it was the most obvious question.

“We’re slowly getting on our feet again”, McGonagall informed him. “The place still looks a sight, even with the most sophisticated magical means the damage cannot be cleared away overnight. Still we are confident that lessons can proceed as usual come September.”

“Good”, murmured Snape.

“Of course, we’re horribly short of staff”, McGonagall explained with a pointed look. “The casualties, you see. And then the war seemed to have had a … well, mind-changing effect on some of our teachers. Not a small number of them have decided to seek their future elsewhere.”

He knew exactly where this was going. “I recently ran into Septima Vector”, he said in order to forestall the inevitable.

“So she told me”, McGonagall replied. “She was quite excited. See, there were a lot of us who couldn’t quite believe the rumours about you. Mr Potter had told us that he’d seen you die in the Shrieking Shack …”

“No use asking me about that”, snarled Snape, his look turning sinister, “I have no memory of it and I don’t know how it went down, so …”

“But why did you run?” The question came like a whip.

“I was … confused.”

She considered him. It was obvious that there was another question on the tip of her tongue, but she decided against asking. “I hope you are aware of the fact that by your action you increased the general mystification concerning yourself even more”, she stated tersely. “That can hardly have been the effect you hoped for.”

He frowned. “Maybe. But I needed to be on my own.”

“Sort things out?”

“Kind of.”

“And have you?”

“I don’t know.”

She scrutinized him. “Haven’t changed much, have you?”

“Did you expect that death would turn me into a blabbermouth?”

McGonagall chuckled at that. “No. But I _did_ hope the whole thing might have taken a load off you.” She tilted her head and scrutinized him. “Now I’m not so sure.”

Snape let this pass with a scowl. Why did everybody these days insist on telling him what they thought? Did they really think he cared? Did they believe it was any of their business? However, he knew the answer in the back of his mind. It was the war, of course. Once fought, it left no room for pretence and it tore down walls. For a while at least.

“We could do with your help”, the headmistress informed him with a cool smile. “At Hogwarts.”

“What kind of help?”

“Well, first of all with the reconstructions. Your associates, the Carrows …”

“My _associates_?” he repeated and it came out like a hiss.

“Ex-associates then”, McGonagall acknowledged with a roll of eyes. “In any case, they left a few … remnants that continue to puzzle us.”

“Remnants?”

“Sealed-off vaults, hidey-holes. Means of communication that we haven’t been able to … turn off. Mostly dark magic, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“Quite.” It had been the Dark Lord’s first command after he, Snape, had taken over Hogwarts as headmaster to make the school more accessible to dark forces. Secret passageways had been established or re-opened to allow for covert entry and seeking shelter, and although Severus had done his best to keep these developments to a minimum – in keeping with his promise to Dumbledore to protect Hogwarts and its students – he could only begin to imagine what might have been done behind his back. “You want me to … drop by and have a look?”

“Yes”, said McGonagall and her back was even stiffer than before. “And I might as well give it to you straight – I also want you back as a teacher.”

“Is that so?” he countered ironically.

“Don’t act like that. I’m sure you received my owl although you didn’t grace me with an answer.”

“I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

McGonagall scrutinized him as if he was an object particularly hard to transfigure. “What else would you do, Severus? Hogwarts is your life, isn’t it? You’ll have to make ends meet somehow.”

“And you think there is no other way for me than teaching at Hogwarts?” he asked with a snort. “What’s more, if I remember correctly my post is occupied by Horace Slughorn.”

McGonagall frowned with a half-smile. “If _I_ remember correctly, your last teaching post was in Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

His eyes widened a little. “You’d have me teach that?”

McGonagall nodded, a mirthful smile on her face.

It was a game-changer, as he had to admit. The prospect of teaching Potions held no appeal for him any longer, first and foremost because it always reminded him of what he could have, would have wanted to become had the Dark Lord not insisted on installing him at Hogwarts. DADA was a different thing altogether.

“Just think what the tykes’ parents would say”, he drawled, attempting to appear indifferent, “if I – a known Death Eater and spy – were to teach their precious little ones in such pursuits.”

“You know very well why Albus wouldn’t give you that position”, Minerva McGonagall said haughtily. “However, he changed his mind a year before …” She broke off, collected herself. “Well, in any case, he eventually came to think that you were the right man for the job. Who am I to go back on his decision?”

“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence”, he replied arrogantly. “May I think about it?”

McGonagall frowned. “If you must. Though I have to insist you hurry up a bit. September’s less than three weeks away. As for the problem at hand, though …”

“You want me to come now?” Snape got up from his seat and McGonagall followed his example in a surprised rush.

“That would be … helpful.”

“Alright. Let’s go.”

They exchanged looks; his was guarded, hers sceptical. They would never be friends, Snape realized. Too much had happened. Also, he suspected that in the Hogwarts headmistress’s eyes he would always be the man who killed Albus Dumbledore, regardless of the circumstances. He sensed that she was trying to be civil and that it cost her a lot. However, she seemed resolved to let bygones be bygones.

Just as well. He didn’t care if people liked him, he didn’t need that assurance for comfort. Not with most people, anyway.

 

No more than two hours later, Severus Snape found himself on top of the Hogwarts Astronomy Tower, gazing down at the lake lying still, like a mirrored surface, in front of the castle in its nest of hills and mountains. He hadn’t been up here since that fateful night when he had risen his wand against Albus Dumbledore and cried _‘Avada Kedavra’_ , hadn’t been able to bring himself to face the location of the murder he had committed. In fact, he had feared that this place – which had formerly been one of his favourites – would be spoilt and lost for him. However, he had been wrong. Overlooking the castle from this elevated vantage point, he felt quite at ease – or as much as ease as he ever got to feel – which was a pleasant surprise. For a few fleeting moments, he could even harbour the illusion that he had been forgiven.

He breathed deeply. Hogwarts. Always a treat, there were no two ways about it.

Gazing down from the tower, however, also gave him quite a good overview of the destruction. Coming face to face with it for the first time had been painful. Seeing his house at Spinner’s End in ruin wouldn’t have given him half the heartache. Once again he was reminded of the fact that if he had a home, it was Hogwarts. And in spite of the rubble the war had left, the place was still beautiful.

‘She should see this’, he caught himself thinking.

Severus closed his eyes and let the wind whip his face. He would have recognized this wind anywhere, it had its own specific pace, pitch and texture. The air smelt entirely like Hogwarts, too.

If last night had taught him anything, however, it was that he mustn’t indulge himself too much. Small doses only, lest he become unbalanced. So he turned sharply on his heel and climbed down the creaking wooden ladder to the lower level and from there he proceeded towards the Great Hall. On the inside, Hogwarts had been pretty much returned to its original appearance. The broken mess had been cleared away and the most critical damages to the structure had been remedied. There was only one exception. The Slytherin hourglass.

“It just refuses to be put together”, McGonagall had explained to him in a plaintive voice. “We have tried and tried, I even had Slughorn give it a go – him being a Slytherin and all – but …”

Now Snape stood in front of the shards of glass, emeralds gleaming in between. There was a funny feeling inside his chest, the kind of feeling that you sometimes have when you understand something, though not rationally with the mind, but with a different entity of perception, maybe that thing called intuition that Elena talked about so much. He whipped out his wand and muttered “ _Reparo_ ”. Sure enough, the pieces of glass and emeralds rose into the air, the hourglass set itself together and looked pristine as if it had never been shattered.

He nodded and mumbled a “Thank you”, not exactly knowing why. He didn’t want to think about what this meant. The implications he would deal with later.

Now for the dungeons. Snape hadn’t been there in a long time, either. His last year at Hogwarts he had spent almost entirely cooped up in the Headmaster’s office, struggling for a precarious balance and with a portrait as his sole companion. On the surface, of course, the nether regions of the castle hadn’t changed.

The secret passageways McGonagall had spoken about he found easily enough, the entrance being hidden behind a portrait of Salazar Slytherin (who else?). Most of the hidden corridors possibly led to the mansions and abodes of loyal Death Eather families. A number of traps had been set that would puzzle and scare a bunch of students, but not Snape. The ghoul the Carrows had installed looked a sight – probably a lost soul that had been tarred and feathered in the Middle Ages – but it only sighed dispiritedly when Snape sent it to its eternal rest. The monster spiders were a different matter, but he dealt with that, too. On the whole, the passageways had visibly been installed in a hurry and it was easy enough – at least with some knowledge of the dark arts – to close them down. The Carrows had always been showy, but never exactly sophisticated.

However, there was one detail that made him frown. It was a room, or rather, a space cut into the rock approximately five feet below the potions classroom. It held pedestals and on the pedestals stood small figurines. At first sight, they were random, but on closer inspection he noticed that they resembled the High Arcana of Tarot cards. There was the Fool, the Hanged Man, the lightning-struck Tower, the Wheel of Fortune. Altogether, Snape counted twenty-one pillars, though for what these symbols stood he could not guess. He could, however, find out their function. Snape inspected the strange items for a while, carefully probing them with his wand, until he was sure what they were.

“Portkeys”, he told McGonagall after he had asked her down to look at the place.

The headmistress frowned. “You’re sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

“I’m not sure about pretty”, said McGonagall, tilting her head, “but I’d like to know where they lead to.”

Snape smiled a little viciously. “Careful. You might find yourself in a den of Dementors.”

“I guess it was used by the Carrows to get to … wherever they wanted to get to.”

“That’s an intelligent guess”, Snape said ironically. “Fancy a little trip?”

“Heck, no!” McGonagall shuddered. “I’m too old for that kind of adventure. But if you must, knock yourself out …”

“I don’t think so”, he said, shaking his head. “That’d be Ministry business, don’t you think?”

A smile twitched around McGonagall’s mouth. “Absolutely”, she agreed. “It’s their job, after all, isn’t it?”

“I agree. We only have to make sure that the tykes don’t get here …”

“The actual term is ‘students’, Severus.”

“Simple sealing charm, I’d say.”

“That should suffice.”

And that was it. However, when he sealed off the cut-out little chamber holding the Tarot portkeys as well as the corridor that led to it, he felt something urging him. It was like a premonition and another example of his long-held impression that Hogwarts, the castle, was able to communicate. ‘You’ll be back here sooner than you think’, it seemed to tell him.

A shiver ran down his spine and he increased the complexity of the sealing charm. Walking back to the Great Hall with Minerva McGonagall, he tried to persuade himself that the place had spoken generally and referred to his return as a teacher. It was the better alternative by far.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	18. Tongue-Tied

**Tongue-Tied**

 

“I didn’t expect you this early.”

“Are you busy?”

“Not really. Just doing a little yoga. Got myself horribly sore muscles yesterday …”

“From prancing around a ballroom.”

“Yes. Don’t look at me like that! Have you ever seriously attempted to dance?”

“Do I look like a ballerina to you? – What’s so funny?”

“Just tried to imagine you in a leotard …”

“What’s a leotard?”

“Never mind. Come in.”

Snape had no idea how amusing he was just by being so out-wordly. Elena bit down on a smile when she took him to her – or rather, to Anna’s – living room where he looked completely at odds. In fact, the Pope would have looked more natural in it. Yet, she was glad that she had been able to talk him into having lessons at her place every now and then. There could be no doubt that it was ten times cosier than his sinister home.

“I’ve got something for you”, Elena informed him while she led the way walking on her naked toes. Her outfit – leggings and a cropped top – had elicited a strict scowl from him, but she wasn’t in the mood for embarrassment. In fact, she felt happy, almost to the point of exhilaration. She didn’t know why but went with the flow, anyway.

“You do?” he asked and sounded reserved.

“Yes.” Elena gathered up a stack of books from the glass coffee table and handed it to him. “Remember how we talked about modern physics last time? I thought these might interest you.”

He took the books, frowning a little. Elena had an idea of what he was thinking – ‘Muggle books’ – yet his eyes got caught at the titles. She had selected them carefully. One of them was called ‘Schrödinger’s Cat’, another was one of her favourites, ‘The Tao of Physics’, and, of course, ‘Goedel, Escher, Bach’, an all-time classic. She had also smuggled a piece of fiction into the stack – an English translation of Meyrink’s ‘The Golem’ – but hoped that he wouldn’t notice for the time being because he didn’t appear to be the type for leisure reading.

“Of course, you don’t _have_ to read them”, she informed him generously. “I just thought that you might want to.”

He looked at her. His nod was no more than a twitch and for some reason he stared at her. Not unkindly, though, it was more a blank gaze that was difficult to place. When he said “Thank you”, his voice sounded strangled.

“Take a seat”, she invited him, pointing to the settee, “would you like tea? Or coffee? I make much better coffee than tea …”

He interrupted her with a decided shake of the head. “I have a different proposition entirely.”

“Yeah?” she raised her eyebrows.

“I’d … like to go to the Ministry of Magic”, he explained hesitantly. “About that recent parchment.”

“Oh!” So he _was_ receptive to advice.

“Yes.” A crease appeared on his forehead. “I thought that it might be … instructive for you to come. See how Ministry business works in our world …”

“I bet it would be very instructive, indeed”, she replied, face dead-pan.

“Alright, then”, he said a little breathily and gave her another stern look-over. “You will change, though, won’t you?”

“You don’t think I look sexy enough to for a trip to the Ministry?”

Severus Snape rolled his eyes. “Stop already, will you?”

Elena giggled and ran up the stairs for a change of clothes.

 

* * *

 

Snape waited, perched on the edge of the sofa. He still didn’t feel at ease in this blatant Muggle environment with its TV and stereo – the standard Muggle addictions – and the feminine homeliness that bordered on kitsch. There were small porcelain figurines of birds neatly arranged on a sideboard; magazines with sparsely-clad women beaming from the covers; and, of course, the usual clutter that seemed to be a trademark of Elena’s – books, notepads, the flat cases that held her music discs, discarded pairs of jeans. The Crawford home reminded him of the fact that he came from an entirely different world than she did. It also reminded him of entering Lily’s room for the first time when he’d been a kid. It had been a den of frills, laces, pink cushions, stuffed animals and posters of horses on the walls. Maybe that was the reason why it felt distinctly painful to be here, not horribly so, it was just a tightening in his chest. He fidgeted impatiently, hoping that he wouldn’t have to wait long.

When Elena finally came down, she wore a simple white dress with embroidery at the hem, high-heeled sand-coloured shoes and her inevitable denim jacket (‘Muggles would wear denims to their own funeral’, he thought). Her hair was in a thick braid and she smiled radiantly when she came towards him, announcing that she was ready. The sunlight fell into the sitting room at a slanted angle and brought out the reddish tones of her hair and the forest-green eyes were bright. He didn’t see Lily, though. In fact, he hadn’t seen her in quite a while, maybe because he was too familiar with Elena by now to confuse her with the friend he still missed so much. Yet, when she walked up to him a strange thing happened. He felt something sliding apart within himself, like the tentative opening of a crack. Right into that crack stepped Elena, eager to be on their way, brimming with excitement.

“What are we waiting for?” she demanded, stretching out her hand towards him.

Severus didn’t take it, though. “No Apparition today”, he told her. “We’ll travel the old-fashioned way.”

“Oh, good! I’ve just eaten …”

 

Snape took her over to his house to introduce her to the miracles of Floo Powder that made a fireplace so much more interesting. He noticed that Elena seemed completely oblivious to the newly introduced cleanliness of the hallway, which relieved and miffed him at the same time. She did, however, spot the huge pair of eyes staring at her from a gap by the kitchen door.

“What’s _that_?” she asked.

“House-elf”, he replied drily.

“You bought a _house-elf_??” The way she said it, he might have been doing something obscene.

“Didn’t buy it”, he snarled. “She’s a gift.”

Elena gaped at him and Snape realized that he hadn’t exactly improved on the situation. “From my mother”, he amended weakly.

“Your _mommy_ sent you a house-elf?”

He sighed. “Can we just agree that things are done differently in my world?”

“Such as _slavery_?”

She should meet Hermione Granger. They’d have so much to talk about. Snape watched Elena raise her hand and wave to Gilly. The elf’s eyes became even wider and it slammed the kitchen door shut.

“Make no mistake”, he said to Elena, “they like it. You won’t persuade me otherwise.”

She frowned. “Just … take us to the Ministry, alright?”

* * *

 

Five minutes later, Elena was ejected out of a crevice in the wall of a large hall. She tumbled over and landed on a mosaic stone floor, grazing her knees in the process. Confused, she looked up. There was a high curved ceiling above her, supported by slim pillars. People in robes and pointed hats stood around, mostly in groups or pairs, staring at her curiously, some of them sniggering. Elena felt her cheeks turn hot and her head was spinning dizzily. Were there no smooth ways of transportation in the wizarding world?

She had hardly taken in the surroundings when a whooshing noise came from the crevice and Snape stepped out of it in a cloud of greenish dust. Of course, he didn’t tumble. In fact, he set foot on the mosaic floor almost elegantly, looking about himself sternly.

The effect was interesting. The sniggering faces went blank, eyes became wide and stared. A hush descended upon the hall. However, Severus Snape acted as if he hadn’t noticed, the usual scowl firmly installed on his face.

“What are you doing down there?” he demanded, the corners of his mouth twitching with a sneer.

The heat in Elena’s face climbed even higher and she scrambled to her feet, smoothing her dress. “Are you enjoying yourself?” she grumbled and ignored the helping hand that he had – surprisingly – extended towards her.

“A little”, Snape said with a shrug, retracting his hand as if burnt. He looked about, his black eyes sweeping across the hall. Somehow he managed to do so while at the same time completely ignoring the stares as well as the breathy whispers that had set in. “Let’s go”, he commanded and without a backward glance, he swept towards a lift with its doors wide open, his black cloak flapping about him.

Once more, Elena found herself hurtling after him.

 

* * *

 

On the top floor of the Ministry building, in the newly established department called RRR (‘Regeneration, Restoration and Reconstruction’), Remus Lupin, Harry Potter and their new colleague Eddard Hincks were enjoying a game of Exploding Snap. The day had been slow and by the afternoon, there just seemed no point any longer in starting on the piles of paperwork accumulating on their desks. Better try again next day. Plus, Eddie Hincks was such an accomplished Exploding-Snap player that it had started to irk Remus and Harry who had lost a substantial pile of Sickles. There just _had_ to be some kind of come-uppance for the young wizard and working on it seemed more urgent right now than following leads to find a few more dark wizards on the loose that would still be there tomorrow. In all that, they weren’t really lazy. It was just that the task at hand sometimes became overwhelming. They needed a break.

When there was a knock on the door, they looked up with irritation at the pretty blonde witch that entered.

“What is it, Sarah? We’re working”, Remus growled.

“I know”, the young witch replied with a grin. “But there is someone to see you. I dare say you’ll be surprised …”

“Nothing surprises me any more these days”, Lupin sighed. “Who is it? Are they any good at Exploding Snap?”

“I wouldn’t know about that, sir. – It’s one Professor Snape …”

Immediately, three wizards shot to their feet.

“Oh, shit”, hissed Harry under his breath and frantically started gathering the cards from the table.

“… and he’s got company …”

“Relax, Harry”, Remus muttered, “he’s no longer your teacher, he can’t give you detention for playing cards during lessons …”

“Snape?” Eddie whispered excitedly. “Did she really say ‘Snape’?”

Remus gave him a pointed look, accompanied by a lopsided grin. “Show them in, Sarah, will you?”

However, the blonde witch had no chance to do so. As she turned back to the door, the same sprang open and in waltzed Severus Snape, eyebrows knit, black coat fluttering. Sarah jumped out of his way just in time.

“Lupin, I hope I’m not interrupting anything?” the wizard snarled sarcastically. At one glance, he had spotted the cards that Harry had dropped and scattered all over the floor. Something else had dropped, too; it was the temperature in the room. Eddie Hincks stood frozen and there was a look of awe on his face.

“Not to worry, Severus”, Lupin said coolly, “just a meeting among investigators.”

“I see”, said Snape pointedly. He took in the two other men. “Mr Potter”, he said in a bored voice and gave the boy with his stricken face a curt nod before his eyes came to rest on Eddie.

“You may remember Eddard Hincks from his days at Hogwarts”, Remus took over introductions, “he’s recently joined us in our pursuits.”

“I do”, said Snape, but from his face – and from Eddie’s, as well – it was obvious that the memory wasn’t a pleasant one. “And you have already met Ms Horwath. Several times, I believe.”

There was a sour note in his voice when he pointed to Elena with a vague sweep of his hand. The girl remained quiet, but she gave Remus and Harry a mischievous grin, rolling her eyes a little. Remus winked at her which Snape couldn’t fail to notice.

“This is a surprise, Severus”, Lupin went on, unfazed, “what brings you here?”

“This.” Snape stepped towards the desk which had so faithfully served as a card table and pressed a crumpled parchment into Lupin’s hand. “It arrived yesterday, by the usual owl.”

Lupin’s expression became serious. He took the parchment, read it and handed it to Harry which extracted a particularly dark scowl from Snape, although he didn’t object.

“That’s … pretty bad”, stuttered Harry when he had finished reading and passed on the offending letter to Eddie.

“Thank you for acknowledging this, Mr Potter”, Snape breathed without looking at Harry. Elena gave her teacher a pointed side glance to which he reacted with an irritated twitch.

“I’m still surprised that you should bring it to our attention”, continued Lupin. “Last time we spoke, you seemed pretty sure that the Ministry wasn’t exactly fit to help you.”

“And I haven’t changed my mind since then”, Snape made clear. “Speaking of which, those two Aurors you installed outside of my home … do you really think those two dunderheads could protect me in a case of emergency?”

“First and foremost, their presence is to deter possible intruders …”, Lupin started, but was interrupted by Snape’s harsh laugh.

Elena cleared her throat. “They really _are_ a little … goofy”, she said.

“What do you mean?” Remus asked kindly.

“Not very inconspicuous”, Elena explained, “especially in that neighbourhood they come over like two koi in a tank of common carps.”

“We _do_ have a staff problem”, Remus admitted.

“Obviously”, Snape sighed lazily.

“So you’ve come to complain about them?”

“Of course not.” Snape jerked his head. “I have come because I demand to speak with those two thugs who attacked me.”

“You _demand_ to speak with them?” Remus repeated quietly, looking hard at Snape.

The black-clad wizard opened his mouth, struggled. He looked close to blowing a fuse.

Elena spoke up again. Her voice was low and even. “It’s a reasonable request, isn’t it? The attack and the parchments … that’s all pretty personal. If you let the Professor talk to them, he might be able to ask them questions that you haven’t thought about. It might give us a clue as to where all this comes from.”

Remus gazed amusedly at the odd couple in front of him, the forbidding scowling wizard who didn’t know how to talk to people in a civil manner and the fresh-faced girl who was so sensitive and good at finding the right words. She seemed to be shaping up to become the man’s voice. They were standing side by side, bodies ever so slightly turned towards each other, although this was probably unconscious. Lupin realized that something had happened between them, that there was a companionship of some sort. He also noticed that Snape didn’t object to Elena speaking on his behalf, a fact he found quite astounding. Normally, Severus Snape wouldn’t allow anyone to take words out of his mouth, let alone smoothen them.

“It can be arranged”, Lupin conceded, “they are still in the Ministry dun…”

“Then make your _arrangements_ ”, growled Snape, “though what would have to be _arranged_ is quite beyond me.”

“It’s not as easy as you may think, Severus”, Lupin explained patiently. “We have, of course, attempted several times to interrogate them. However, it seems that quite a forceful Tongue-Tie was put on both of them which even our best Aurors haven’t been able to lift.”

“A Tongue-Tie?” repeated Snape disbelievingly. “You didn’t tell me that. And obviously it didn’t occur to you to call me in about it. I could have helped.”

“You made it very clear that you had no interest in helping the Ministry”, Remus reminded him.

Snape completely ignored his reasoning. “And what exactly do you mean when you say ‘even your best Aurors’? Tongue-Ties are dark magic. Are your so-called ‘best people’ in any way familiar with that?”

“Certainly not in the same way as you are”, Lupin shot back, his voice laden with sarcasm. “Which proves my point.”

An angry pause ensued in which Lupin and Snape eyed each other, defiance on the one side, dislike on the other.

“Yeah, well, you can cockfight later”, Elena chimed in, “but for now – where exactly are those bloody … dungeons?” She smirked because the term made her think of darkrooms and kinky sex.

Eddie turned around to Lupin, asking for permission with his eyes. His superior nodded imperceptibly.

“If you’ll please follow me”, Eddie said eagerly, more to Elena than to Snape, and led the way.

The five of them squeezed into another lift which swiftly took them way down, deep into the ground. The atmosphere in the narrow space was uncomfortable with Snape staring at the ceiling in an immensely annoyed way.

“Where exactly are we here?” Elena asked Lupin, inadvertently whispering.

“Below Whitehall”, he explained, “even the topmost floor of the Ministry is several feet under the Muggle Ministry headquarters.”

“Really? But I could see the sun shining outside of the windows …”

“Enchanted windows”, Harry and Snape explained as if with one voice, then they looked at each other, both irritated.

Elena chuckled. “This world never ceases to surprise me …”

“Ms Horwath has only been a witch for a couple of months”, Remus explained to a confused-looking Eddie.

“Gee, that’s interesting!” issued Eddie, smiling shyly at Elena. “And how do you like it? I mean … it’s pretty cool, isn’t it?”

“It is”, she admitted, tilted her head and scrutinized Eddie. “Listen, have you ever been told that you look a lot like Ethan Hawke?”

“All the time”, said Eddie, grinning proudly. “Sometimes girls ask me for autographs …”

Snape let out a very audible sigh and silence fell once more. Thankfully, the lift stopped at that moment, opening its doors to a labyrinth of underground corridors. There was a stale smell and torches lit up the low damp brick walls.

Eddie Hincks led the way with an air of self-importance, with Elena and Snape following while Harry and Remus brought up the rear. The two cells which held the attackers were at the very end of the main corridor. On the way there, Elena felt eyes burning holes in her back and once or twice there was a wolf-whistle. She felt goose bumps prickling on her skin but straightened her back, gazing ahead.

The man whose nose she’d broken she recognized straight away. He sat in the depth of his cell on a cot, his yellowish eyes fixing the approaching group. There was a huge dirty bandage across his face and a malicious smile contorted his features when he saw who it was.

“Ah”, he murmured, “I thought we’d meet again …”

“This is Damien Kerr”, Remus explained. “You may have met him, Severus, even before the attack …”

Snape stepped closer to the metal-grilled door, scrutinizing the man.

“I don’t think he remembers me”, wheezed Kerr and gave a low cackle, “too high and mighty in the Dark Lord’s ranks, weren’t you, Snape? Wouldn’t notice small mercenaries such as I …”

“Hardly”, Snape admitted coldly. “There was a lot of vermin breeding at the grass roots.”

A raucous laugh answered him. “I see your defences are up again. But I had you, didn’t I? Hadn’t it been for your little whore …” The yellowish eyes swept over Elena with a leer. “Remember what I promised you, sweetheart? Are you glad to see me? Now why don’t you come in here for a bit …”

A shiver ran down Elena’s spine. Out of the corners of her eyes, she saw Snape perform a swift movement with his wand. A green jet shot towards Kerr, hitting him in the face and knocking off the grin.

“Come on now”, Lupin murmured, putting an admonishing hand on Snape’s shoulder which the latter shook off brusquely. “This is not the time for gallantry. He can’t get to her …”

Snape ignored him. Elena detected a tremor in his thin frame and when he looked at Kerr, his face held an expression of extreme loathing. “I’ve come to talk to you”, he said with ill-contained wrath. “Not to _you_ , specifically, ‘cause under ordinary circumstances I wouldn’t consider you worth talking to. However, I should like to know everything about the man who commissioned you to attack me.”

“And you think I’d tell you?” The hatred in Kerr’s voice matched that of Snape. “Think again, Professor, and let me tell you that dealing with the man who paid us might be a little bit over your head …”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

Again, Kerr laughed. “He’s not a bloody beginner, Professor. He made sure that we wouldn’t tell. Didn’t your friends here tell you?”

“You think I can’t handle a simple Tongue-Tie?” A vicious smile swept over Snape’s face. He turned around to Lupin. “Let me inside”, he demanded.

“I won’t talk to you!” shouted Kerr. Suddenly, there was alarm in his voice. “You can’t make me! I’d rather rot in here for all eternity than betraying _him_. You have no idea how powerful he is! Why, he matches the Dark Lord! If I tell, I’ll die an agonizing death.”

“Very touching”, sighed Snape and looked at Lupin again, repeating his demand with his eyes.

Remus hesitated, exchanging glances with Harry and Eddie. In that moment, there was a slight movement in the neighbouring cell. A dark figure came out of the shadows towards the metal grill.

“ _I_ will talk to you, sir”, a weak voice said.

A haggard face appeared, surrounded by a mane of matted reddish hair. It looked a sight, riddled with cuts and bruises. Elena realized that these were the effects of the trap Snape had set in his cellar. The eyes of the other attacker were a light blue and blinked a little madly.

“Shut your gob, Aubrey!” Kerr growled. “You know what will happen!”

However, the light-blue eyes focussed on Snape. “Help me, sir”, he demanded, his lower lip trembling. “I’ll tell you everything I know if you promise to do something to help me. I never wanted to be part of all this in the first place, believe me! It was he who made me do it …” He pointed vaguely to the neighbouring cell. “He said it was easy money. I had no idea it was _you_ who we were supposed to attack …”

“You’re a bloody idiot, Aubrey!” hissed Kerr.

“Don’t you see?” The other man shot back. “We will truly rot in here if we don’t cooperate!”

“They’ll let us rot in here anyway!”

Elena listened to the exchange with held breath. She expected cutting words from Snape, but to her surprise he remained calm, moving slowly towards the other cell. “I’m sure the Ministry will agree to show some leniency if you’ll be able to tell me anything useful”, he said in his smoothest and silkiest voice. “Won’t it, Lupin?”

“It is an offer we have made repeatedly”, Remus confirmed with a frown. “There is, however, the matter of the Tongue-Tie …”

“I told you, a simple Tongue-Tie doesn’t stump me …”

“Then rid me of it, sir!” Aubrey demanded. “All I want is to get out of here.”

“You’re so screwed up, man!” hissed Kerr, swearing and vanishing into the dark crevice of his cell.

“Alright then”, said Snape with a nod. “The man is ready to talk. Let me in.”

Lupin nodded at Eddie whereupon the young wizard took out his wand and released the complex locking spell on Aubrey’s cell door. With a feeling of apprehension, Elena watched Snape stepping into the dark, ill-smelling hole. Remus and Eddie followed him with drawn wands while Elena stayed outside with Harry. She saw her teacher motioning Aubrey to take a seat on the cot while he drew over a rickety chair for himself and sat down opposite the man. Snape started to talk, however, his voice was so low that Elena could hardly understand a word. For a while, things seemed to go fine. Aubreys face was eager, she saw him nod, answering Snape’s questions in an equally low voice. Suddenly, however, a strangled tone issued from his throat. Aubrey struggled, coughed. He sounded as if someone had him by the neck, pressing down on his windpipe.

Snape got up from his chair. His wand was raised and he started on a long and complex incantation. A bluish jet came from the tip of his wand, surrounding Aubrey, his face, his throat, while a melodious sing-song came from Snape. Elena noticed – although it was completely non-consequential in this situation – that he had a good singing voice, more than good, in fact, it was beautiful. She wondered if he ever sang a merry song under the shower. Then she realized how out-of-place that idea was and concentrated on the scene in front of her.

The incantation went on and on, however, the strangled tones continued to be wrenched from Aubrey’s throat. Suddenly, the man started to flail his arms, desperately struggling for air while his eyes became wide and blood-shot. Fear spread over his features.

“Severus!” shouted Lupin. “Stop it! Don’t you see you’re choking him?”

Snape broke off the incantation and carefully scrutinized Aubrey who eagerly sucked air into his lungs.

“I’m sorry”, Aubrey coughed, “I’m trying, but …”

“Alright”, murmured Snape. For a tiny moment, he seemed flustered. “There are other means …”

Again, Snape raised his wand and muttered “ _Legilimens_.”

Beside her, Elena felt Harry moving uncomfortably.

“Are you alright?” she whispered to him.

“Oh, yeah, yeah”, the boy murmured. “It’s just … I know exactly how _that_ feels …”

“What is he doing?”

“He’s intruding into his mind”, was the curt answer.

Elena gazed at Snape. An expression of utmost concentration was on his face. Beads of sweat had started to gather on his pale forehead.

All of a sudden, Aubrey let out a horrible groan. He struggled up from his cot, arms flailing again. Remus and Eddie jumped to his side, but in the next moment Aubrey fell to the dirty floor. Elena saw something shooting out of his mouth, his nose, his ears … It was blood, thick, viscous and blackish. Aubrey let out a rattle and it was a horrible sound that crept under her skin.

She saw Snape step back, breaking off the spell. Even in his face, there was a look of horror. Within seconds, blood was everywhere. It ran over Aubrey’s body, splashed onto the floor, spreading … Elena stared, couldn’t bring herself to look away.

“Bloody hell!” Snape swore, quite aptly. “Lay him down! Quick, before he’s bleeding out …” He wheeled around, his eyes meeting Elena’s, and they were wide, the sallow skin gone greyish. “Potter!” he bellowed. “Don’t let her see this!”

Elena felt Harry’s hands grab her by the shoulders and tear her away from the metal grill. It was in that moment that the reality of what she was witnessing hit her stomach. A boundless feeling of nausea overtook her, making her head spin. There was a static in her ears over which she heard a hard, cackling laugh. It was Kerr, standing by his cell door, grinning at her, yellowish eyes ablaze …

 

* * *

 

This time, at least, she didn’t faint. When Harry Potter led her into a small room that probably served as a tea room for the wardens – his grip on her was surprisingly strong and a little too manly for his boyish appearance – her cheeks were hot once more. Luckily, this also meant that the blood was coming back to her head.

“Sit down”, Harry said in a calm voice and drew out a stool onto which he gently pushed her.

“Every time we meet, I’m close to fainting”, she murmured ruefully. “Sorry about that ...”

He didn’t reply but got her a cup of water. “Don’t worry about it”, he advised with a twinkle in his green eyes. “During my first years in the wizarding world, I used to become confused and sick all the time. It’s a harsher reality than the Muggle one …”

“You’re being sweet.”

“No, really”, Harry assured her, “first time I ran into a Dementor, I totally passed out. Ask Remus.” As if this reminded him of something, Harry pulled a half-eaten bar of chocolate out of his robes pocket. “That’s why I always have this.” He broke off a piece and offered it to her.

“That wasn’t a Dementor in there”, she said, but took the chocolate anyway.

“No. But blood shooting out of a guy like that’s quite something. Made _me_ queasy.”

“Even you?” she asked with a wink.

He gave a quick smile. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know. – What do you think happened?”

“I dunno.” Harry shrugged. “Snape intruded into his mind and set something off, I guess. Looks like there’s more than a Tongue-Tie …”

“Do you think they can fix him? Not that I like the guy, he attacked us after all, but I wouldn’t have wished this on him …”

“They will fix him”, Harry said curtly, but didn’t look too sure. “Snape knows what he’s doing, I’m sure he’ll find a way.”

“If he’ll give a damn”, she murmured darkly.

“He’s not like that.” Harry sounded decided now.

Elena smiled at him. “You’re very kind.”

The young man blushed and was obviously in desperate search for a change of subject. “How are your studies going?”

“Oh. Not bad. Recently I learnt how to cast a Patronus.”

Harry looked up. “Really? That’s pretty advanced. – What’s it like?”

“It’s a raven.”

“Cool.” He grinned.

“Funny, because I was damn sure it was going to be a cat.”

“Patronuses are emotional. Sub-conscious, sometimes. They can change, too.”

“Really? How does that happen?”

“Like … when you fall in love. – My girlfriend’s used to be a horse. Now it’s a doe. ‘Cause mine’s a stag, you see.”

“Snape’s is a doe”, she blurted out.

Harry gave her a curious look. “He showed you?”

“Yes. I expected everything from him, but not something so graceful and feminine ...”

Harry opened his mouth, then looked at her and closed it again. Elena got the feeling that what he had wanted to say might have been interesting and she tilted her head. “Why would his be a doe when yours is a stag?” she probed. “I never had the impression that you are very … fond of each other?”

Harry sighed. “My mother’s was a doe.”

“Oh!”

Silence fell. A stream of emotions went through Elena and shut her up for the moment. ‘How about that’, the parrot on her shoulder mused.

“Patronuses are very useful”, Harry went on, “not only to chase Dementors away. During the war, we used it as a sign of a benign presence, or as an S.O.S. Not a lot of people can do it. Most Death Eaters couldn’t.”

“Tell me about the war, Mr Potter”, Elena asked quietly.

“It’s Harry”, the young man replied quickly. “Why do you want me to tell you about that?”

“Well, first of all because I don’t know a lot about it. Second, because it is your job right now to make me feel better. And third, you have to practice because one day you are going to have to tell your children.”

That made him laugh. “Where do you want me to start?”

“At the beginning, preferably. _Your_ beginning.”

“Alright.” He cleared his throat. “You see, I was just a normal kid, living with my horrible aunt and uncle and my horrible cousin in a horrible poky house in a street called Privet Drive, when one day …”

And thus Elena Horwath, for the first time in her life, heard the amazing story of Harry James Potter …

 

* * *

 

“He’s unconscious”, Severus said, straightening up in the tiny cell, sweat running over his face. “The bleeding has stopped, but still he should be taken to St. Mungo’s.”

“I’ll call them”, mumbled Eddie and hurried out of the claustrophobic space, glad to have an excuse to escape the pungent smell of blood and vomit. He was pale around the nose, but they all were, even Snape.

“That was close”, remarked Remus Lupin a little breathlessly. “I thought we’d lost him.”

Snape nodded to indicate that he had thought the same thing. Exhaustedly, he ran his hand over his face and hair, inadvertently smearing it with blood. The front of his robes was impregnated with it, now drying to become a matted crust. Remus didn’t look any better and made a mental note that next time Snape came to visit, he would just keep playing cards.

“He’ll be alright”, the latter said. “We can try again in about a week.”

“Try again?” Remus stared at him with alarm. “This man’s not a guinea pig, Severus!”

“He’s not exactly a human being, either”, was the reply, delivered with a shrug.

“I think the Avalon Convention has a different take on that”, said Remus and it sounded final at first, but then a sly expression appeared on his features. “I might, however, authorize that you try on Kerr”, he stated in a low voice.

Damien Kerr was still laughing quietly in the neighbouring cell. He had laughed through the entire procedure of stabilizing his associate, and an unnerving cackle it had been.

“I’ll have to do some research first”, Snape replied tersely.

“Yeah, you _did_ seem a little stumped”, Remus couldn’t resist remarking. “What do you think this was about? A Tongue-Tie of the mind?”

“Something like that, quite obviously.” Severus frowned and looked a bit uncertain. In fact, Remus hadn’t seen him that uncertain in years. “The bleeding started when I got into the nether layers of his mind, it clearly set something off …” He wanted to go on, saying ‘… although I have never seen anything like it’, but didn’t.

“Much ado about nothing”, Lupin murmured darkly. “We look like we slaughtered a pig, but we haven’t learnt anything.”

“But we did. We know that whoever is after me is probably as good as he says he is.”

Once more, Snape’s face had turned into a cold mask. No matter how closely Remus scrutinized it, he could find no trace of worry or fear although he knew that it must be there. Severus Snape might be a brave man who was used to living with constant danger, but he surely hadn’t come running to the Ministry without a reason.

“We could offer you sanctuary at the Ministry”, Lupin started.

A crease on the man’s forehead indicated that Snape thought hard about this, but eventually he shook his head. “It wouldn’t solve anything”, he explained. “He’d just lay low and wait. And I couldn’t stay at the Ministry indefinitely.”

“So what’s your plan? Staying holed up in your house and wait until something happens?”

Snape shook his head. “I’m going back to Hogwarts soon.”

“Really?” Remus raised his eyebrows in surprise. “When did you decide this?”

“About three minutes ago.” With that, Snape turned his back to Lupin and walked out of the cell.

They were halfway down the corridor when Snape turned around to Lupin. “Is there any kind of record on how many persons were killed by Death Eater fires?” he asked.

“You mean – Bellatrix-style?” Remus made a face. “As you can perhaps imagine, records are not our strong suit right now. When Voldemort fell, a lot of them were destroyed in a last desperate act …”

“I see.”

“I’ll have a look, though …”

“Fine”, sighed Snape and walked on, making for the lift.

“Oi, Severus! Aren’t you forgetting something?”

For a split second, Snape looked puzzled. Then there was a change in his face and hadn’t it been for the dim light of the torches, Remus could have sworn that the colour had risen in his cheeks a little. He grinned at Snape and pointed towards a door. “I think your arm candy’s in there.”

Indeed, laughter was clearly audible from behind the closed warden’s room. It made Severus scowl with ill foreboding. He stepped towards the door and opened it quietly to encounter a lively flow of conversation.

“… and then he went really, really _bonkers_ because he couldn’t figure out how we’d done it, how Hermione and I could have been in two places at once, but Dumbledore, you know, he stayed ever so cool …”

“Regaling innocents with stories of your heroism, Potter?”

Snape’s voice was like ice-cold water and immediately Harry jumped up from the chair on which he had been sitting opposite from Elena who was all grins and squeals. “No! I was just …”

“Harry was kind enough to tell me a little more about my Time Turner”, Elena explained with a radiant smile towards her teacher.

“ _Your_ Time Turner”, Snape repeated with a growl, staring her down.

In fact, Elena shrunk a little under his gaze – she had only just realized that she had given herself away, had admitted to stealing it, and he’d let her know that he knew – but suddenly face changed and she shot up from her stool. “What happened?” she cried. “You look horrible!” She stared at the blood on his face and his robes.

“Thank you”, Snape murmured with a resigned look.

“Aubrey is alright”, Lupin explained. “He’ll be taken to St. Mungo’s very shortly. He’s out of it, but he’ll live.”

“Did you find out anything?” Elena wanted to know.

Lupin smiled at her. “I’m sure Severus will tell you all about it.” He looked at Harry. “We shouldn’t leave Aubrey alone in his cell. At least not until the guys from St. Mungo’s are here …”

Harry got the hint, gave a precursory smile at Snape and a cordial one to Elena. “It’s been nice talking to you. All the best for your studies. And way to go on the Patronus!”

With that, he and Lupin exited the cramped warden’s room, leaving Snape and Elena behind.

 

* * *

 

 

“You won’t believe this … He showed her his Patronus.”

“Ah. That doesn’t mean anything. She doesn’t know what it means.”

“She does _now_ …”

“Harry, you scoundrel …”

“She should! Know it, I mean …”

“Why d’you say that?”

“’Cause she likes him. And he likes her.”

“You think?”

“Oh yes. It’s that look on his face, you see. It reminds me a little of how he looked at my mom …”

 

* * *

 

“What did Potter tell you?”

They had just stepped out of the fireplace at his house at Spinner’s End. Elena looked at Snape. His eyes pierced her and once again, his words had come out in a hiss. She knew she was on dangerous ground. She also knew that she mustn’t let him cow her.

“His side of the story”, she replied evenly.

“A giddy Gryffindor story, I’m sure.”

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “After all, you won’t tell me the slimy Slytherin side of it. And don’t get your knickers in a twist – we only got to his third year.”

“So no doubt you’ve heard of the marvellous Sirius Black, graceful godfather and deus ex machina …”

“You’re being dramatic. Honestly, that Sirius guy sounds like a pompous plonker to me.”

Snape hardly smirked at that. “The whole thing is being turned into a legend”, he mumbled. “Mystification. I hate that. It distorts the truth.”

“But what is truth? There is no such thing. Truth is always a matter of perspective and thus a fickle bitch.”

“Still you shouldn’t believe everything that boy tells you. He is arrogant and although he’s a mediocre wizard at most, he thinks the world of himself and his very own brand of truth.”

Elena gaped at him. The ill-concealed loathing in Snape’s face shocked her a little since she couldn’t connect it to the charming young man who had comforted her in the last hour. “What exactly is your problem, Professor? Aren’t you exaggerating a bit? He seemed nice enough to me and considering that he defeated your Lord Vollpfosten, he can’t be that mediocre …”

“He was lucky, that’s all!” Snape hissed. “Potter has the gift of charming people, of turning their heads. And he greatly relies on more talented friends. In all this, he is very much like his father …”

“Not like his mother at all, huh?”

She didn’t know what had made her say that. It had just slipped out. Snape’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“I can see he has taken you in, as well”, he growled.

“He hasn’t taken me in, don’t be stupid! I’ve only just met him. But I find it astounding that you should hate him so much when he is only a harmless young man, and the son of someone you … cared for …”

“Shut up!” The words were like a whiplash, brutal and smarting. “This is none of your fucking business!”

“Language”, she said coolly. Elena had never heard him say the f-word before. With a certain interest, she noted that she was rubbing off on him.

“Go now”, he commanded. “You’re nosy and irritating.”

“’Cause I rattle your cage a bit?”

“You rattle nothing, I assure you, you couldn’t even begin to rattle me.” His voice was a whisper now, menacing and aiming to offend.

Elena realized that it made no sense to continue the conversation. “Alright, don’t freak out.” She looked at him. “By the way, you’ve got blood all over your face?”

His hand flew up to his forehead. “Damn it …”

“Nothing a wash won’t solve”, she said coldly. “And don’t forget your hair while you’re at it …”

The look that hit her was nothing short of evil. “Leave. Me. Alone”, he whispered.

Elena sighed. “Alright, Professor”, she said quietly. “If that’s what you want …”

With that, Elena turned around and made for the sitting room door. Out of the corners of her eyes, she saw him twitch, but he said nothing. She left the room, crossed the hallway, and when she was out of the front door she closed it with a bang, now fuming inside. She had thought that they had become closer, that she had gained his trust. However, pushing people away seemed to be something close to a reflex with Severus Snape.

She was lost in dark thoughts, and on her way out onto the cobbled street, she almost fell over something. A bundle. A very large bundle, actually, crossing her path. What was it? A sleeping bag with a bum in it? What was it doing in front of Snape’s house?

She bent down, examined the bundle more closely. It took her several fractions of a second before she realized what it was …

 

* * *

 

He stood by the fireplace, swearing his heart out. His insides felt torn and bruised, and he couldn’t tell why. What a horrid day! Futile from the start, botched to its end. He should have known that the trip to the Ministry wouldn’t bring him any further, what a bloody stupid idea, anyway, how could he have let her talk him into it, he should have known …

The piercing scream made him jump. Snape knew immediately it was her. His fingers were trembling when he fumbled out his wand and he ran to the door.

He found her outside his house, kneeling on the ground. It was dark, the moon up, and her face was a black-and-white mask, although he could see immediately how contorted it was. Her whole body was shaking and she stared at a large form lying by the street. A cold fist plunged into his stomach. He already knew what he was going to see next.

It was one of the Aurors detailed to protect him, his former student. He lay on the ground, very still, in a pool of blood that came from a slit throat. His eyes were wide open, frozen in a still of shock and horror. He was also very, very dead.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	19. The Dream

**The Dream**

 

Once again, rain bore down on Spinner’s End. It was torrential, clouding the street in a thick veil and making it hard to see the neighbouring houses, the lighted windows of which were nothing but a blur. Yet, Severus Snape couldn’t resist staring out, trying to discern a shape, a presence, something, anything. He frequently found himself standing by the window these days, keeping watch, though what good it might do he wasn’t sure.

Whenever he turned away from the window, his eyes fell on the recent parchment that sat on his desk. By now, he knew its content by heart. ’ _Make no mistake, Snape, I am a match to you in every respect as I will shortly demonstrate.’_ – His _‘most ardent admirer’_ certainly hadn’t wasted any time in showing him what he was capable of. There was no doubt in Snape’s mind that he was up against a wizard of considerable power. The Tongue-Tie as well as the ‘Mind-Tie’ that had been put on Aubrey and Kerr was ample proof of that. Snape had been spending the last days reading in his most eccentric and abstruse books on dark arts. However, he hadn’t been able to come up with any solutions. The Ministry hadn’t been much help, either, but that he had expected.

Time and again, the image of the young Auror – Clive Carnegie by name – with the slit throat rose up before his inner eye. It was harrowing in itself, but Snape had seen too many people suffer and die and he had been able to keep that specific spectre at bay. The same didn’t apply to Elena, though. That she had been the one to find the body had been extremely unfortunate. He remembered her shaking frame when he had urged her to get up from the ground. Tears had been streaming down her face when he had brought her home. The memory of those tears was more painful to him than what had caused them.

Another thought had been troubling him since that night. What if it had been her who’d been lying there, throat slit, in a pool of blood? The realization that she was in it, if he liked it or not, was almost unbearable.

When he had taken her to the Crawford house after the gruesome discovery, her aunt had answered the door. She had stared at her bedraggled niece apprehensively and given Snape a dirty look as if he was to blame for her state. (To be honest, he was.) The old woman had taken Elena into the hallway and shut the door in his face. Elena, apathetic at that point, hadn’t even protested. He had swallowed the hurt and walked around the Crawford house instead, putting up some unobtrusive spells for protection. It was the least he’d been able to do. After that he’d called in Lupin to deal with the dead Auror whom he had – so as not to upset the neighbourhood – hidden under a temporary invisibility spell.

“I hate to sound like a broken record”, Lupin had said somberly after the first shock had worn off, “but you could still seek shelter with the Ministry …”

Snape had replied in his favourite monosyllable.

“Really, Severus, aren’t you being a little stubborn? As much as I congratulate you on your decision to go back to Hogwarts, which will be a much safer place for you, there are still more than two weeks left until September. All sorts of things could happen in the meantime.”

“I know”, Snape had murmured, “but I can’t leave right now.”

There had been a glimmer in Lupin’s eyes, an indication that he had understood the reason. He had inclined his chin with the ghost of a smile around his mouth and said no more.

The reason … Severus didn’t want to contemplate it. He knew that it had been lurking inside him for a while now and that he should look at it. Analysing his feelings in a cold and rational way had, in his experience, always been the most effective way of controlling emotions since most feelings appeared puny when examined under the harsh light of logic. Now, however, he shied away from just that analysis and tried to concentrate on the dark arts books stacked on his desk. To no avail. He just didn’t have the mind for it.

So he started pacing. Up and down his sitting room, as he had done so often during the last few days. Those had been unbearably tedious, almost as boring as the first few weeks after his mysterious resurrection that he’d spent in hiding at Spinner’s End. Elena hadn’t come. Not the day after finding the dead Auror, and not the day after that. Her absence had made him angry, frustrated and apprehensive. Repeatedly, he had told himself that she needed time after what she had seen that night, that she needed to recover and that he must not rush her. Yet, her not showing made him nervous. More often than he wanted to he remembered what he had said to her that evening after the trip to the Ministry. Had he gone too far? But certainly, that couldn’t be it. She had heard worse from him. She could take it. However, a nagging doubt remained.

On the third day of her not appearing, he hadn’t been able to contain himself any longer. It had been a Wednesday and knowing that she usually spent the afternoons of that day at her dancing school, he had gone there to meet her. Sure enough, he had found her busy in the ballroom, teaching a student. It was the very same man he had seen her with getting into a big Muggle car the other day. So that was what he had been, just another one of her students.

Snape had watched her and the student from out of the shadows for a while. For the first time, he had really looked at what she was doing, how she was teaching and how serious her face was when explaining. He had realized how important this was to her, that she loved it. In the man’s arms, she had moved naturally and gracefully, but he’d also noticed the haggard expression on her face.

When she’d come out of the studio, he’d shown himself to her by stepping forward a bit. Her eyes had become wide with apprehension.

“You shouldn’t come here” she’d hissed. Her words had been like a slap.

“Sorry to be such an inconvenience”, he’d spat, regretting it at once. He knew the situation was precarious. However, he didn’t know how else to talk to people, particularly not if his nerves were strained.

“It’s not that”, she’d said with a fervent shake of the head. “It’s just … you’re very un-Mugglish.” In his book, that was a compliment. “And he”, she turned quickly towards the ballroom where her student was studying the inlay of one of the CDs, “he’s already seen you the other day. He’ll ask questions.”

Snape had stepped back behind the pillar a little. “Where have you been?”

She’d made a face. “Recovering.”

He’d studied her expression. “At the cost of your lessons?”

“I know.” A sharp exhale. “Just … give me a little time, alright? I’m not a badass wizard such as you, I need to adjust to those things. Right now, I’m dreaming about slit throats.”

“I can make you a draught that’ll give you dreamless sleep”, he’d offered.

She’d scoffed, but with a wan smile. “That would only put it off, wouldn’t it?”

“Probably.”

“See?” Elena had looked about herself nervously. “I’ll come back in a few days, alright? I will let you know.”

He’d scrutinized her face again, somehow afraid that she was lying. However, when she looked back at him, her eyes were clear. “Alright”, he’d mumbled, only to Disapparate instantly. If it had worked. Very much to his own surprise, however, it hadn’t. A second later, he was still standing on the spot behind the pillar, Elena looking at him with wide eyes.

“What’s wrong?” she’d asked.

“I don’t know. Sometimes it is difficult to Disapparate from those modern high buildings. Something to do with the steel carriers …”

This was true. However, Snape had thought that he had mastered that particular difficulty decades ago. Then again, he was not himself lately, absent-minded, his concentration marred. Again, he became dimly aware of something lurking at the back of his mind that he didn’t want to face.

Elena gazed at him curiously and there was a twitch around her mouth. Clearly, she found it amusing to see that even the great Severus Snape made a magical balls-up every now and then. He resented her half-grin, turned on his heel and left the building in the classic manner.

Outside, he Disapparated on the spot …

 

* * *

 

Three days had passed since that conversation and still Elena hadn’t come. With every day, he was getting more and more restless. He told himself that this was worry about the menace lurking somewhere in his life. When that became too difficult – usually by the end of the day – he fell back on a tried and tested remedy: Ogden’s Old Fire Whiskey. He hadn’t tasted it in a while and so the first hit was quite satisfying. Shortly after, he was lolling in his armchair, looking dreamily into the flames of the fireplace.

The frantic knock on his front door gave him a jolt. He jumped up and quietly went into the hallway where the house-elf Gilly stood and gazed at the door uncertainly.

“Why don’t you open?” he asked her.

“It is a Muggle”, replied Gilly. “Gilly is a good house-elf. She know she must not show herself to Muggles.”

The corners of his mouth jumped. “But you know Ms. Horwath, don’t you? She’s been here before and by the way, she is not a Muggle.”

“It is not the young girl that came here the other day”, said Gilly, “it is an old woman.”

Anna Crawford.

“Kitchen”, snarled Snape. Gilly followed suit without delay.

Snape went to the door and opened it. Anna Crawford stared at him with large eyes. There were rollers in her smoke-grey hair and the dressing gown she wore looked as if it had been thrown over in a hurry. Her bare feet were in trainers, laces untied. Her breathing was ragged. She left him no time to greet her.

“Mr Snape, you must come immediately!”

He raised his eyebrows in alarm.

“It’s Elena.” The woman gulped, her fingers trembled.

Coldness spread inside him. “What happened?”

“I can’t wake her up. She’s asleep … and she has some kind of nightmare. She’s … screaming and I can’t wake her up!”

Snape breathed with relief. She was alive, obviously unhurt except for a bad dream.

He nodded to Anna Crawford, feeling for his wand in his robes pocket. “Take me to her”, he said as gently as he managed and the old woman took the lead, Snape following.

As soon as he stepped into the Crawford hallway, he heard her. Screaming, moaning, thrashing, even. He hurried towards the stairs.

“First room on the right”, Anna said, breathing hard.

He spurted up, went into the room. It was a poky little box room, the twin of the one in which he had spent his childhood years. At the same time, it was very different. It also smelt of her. A night lamp was on. He stared towards the bed where Elena was lying, moaning pitifully. She tossed and turned, the blanket was off, but her eyes were tightly shut, her hair bathed in sweat.

Snape approached her carefully and sat down on the edge of the bed. She wore shorts and a tight tank top, both drenched in perspiration and clinging to her body, her face was contorted with anguish. He knew right away that this was not an ordinary dream and he shook her shoulder.

“Elena. Wake up”, he said, just to make sure. If anything, however, her screaming only increased. She started talking, it sounded like pleading. He couldn’t understand the words.

“She says ‘Let us go. Not like this, please, not like this.’” Anna had appeared in the doorframe, her face anxious. “What is happening to her?”

He didn’t reply but raised his wand. What the old woman would think he didn’t care about. Quietly, he muttered ‘ _Expergite_!’ It didn’t work the first time, but when he tried a little harder Elena’s eyes flew open and she jolted up, greedily sucking air into her lungs.

“It’s alright”, he said and tried hard to sound soothing, “you had a bad dream.”

She stared at him blankly, her chest rising and falling fast. The Time Turner rested, glittering, on her sternum, moving up and down with her breathing. Suddenly, she lunged forward and threw her arms around him. It came so abruptly it froze him. Her body, however, was hot, her skin slick with sweat. At the periphery of his mind, he noticed the soft crush of her breasts against his chest. Hesitantly, he put a hand on her back, patting it awkwardly, then reached up to her arms to gently release the vice in which she held him.

She drew back hastily, gaping at him in shock. “I’m sorry!” she whispered.

“It’s alright”, he repeated stupidly.

Their eyes met briefly when Anna Crawford butted in with a torrent of words in German. The inevitable followed, hugging and coaxing, while Elena murmured placatorily (“ _Passt schon, Tantchen, passt schon …_ ”). Snape got up from her bedside and quietly went to the door, but not before giving her a long look that said that they needed to talk.

 

Ten minutes later, they met downstairs in the living room. Anna Crawford had objected and insisted Elena relax, but had been gently persuaded to go back to her bedroom and try to catch some sleep herself. When Elena came down, she wore a plain white dressing gown and ridiculously looking sandals with a strap between her toes. Her hair was still damp, but otherwise she appeared calm except for a strained smile.

“Thank you for waking me up”, she said a little too breezily, “I sometimes get really crazy dreams …”

“Visions, you mean”, he replied, looking her in the eyes.

She shrugged uncomfortably.

“You told me you used to have sights. Premonitions.”

“As a child”, she said defensively. “And not like this, they were more like flashes, not elaborate dreams …”

“A divination teacher at Hogwarts once told me that seers take their visions in whatever form they come since they are rare enough. You’ve long repressed those things. Now you deal with magic and they come up again.”

“Or maybe you’re overrating”, but she didn’t meet his eyes.

“What did you dream?”

She merely sighed.

“You must realize this may be important”, he reminded her, “and as you have repeatedly said, we’re in this together.”

The intentional brutality of the words shook her out of her reserve. “I dreamt I was in a fire”, she said with a hoarse voice and a dead-pan face. “With you. We were going to die in it.”

He stared and swallowed.

“It could have been a regular dream”, she said reasonably. “See, there was this mention of fire in that parchment and I’ve always been afraid of fires, and then I really hang out with you a lot … I mean, Muggle psychology could explain it in a wink!”

He couldn’t help smiling. The reality was too harsh for her to face. Regret flooded him, for the umpteenth time, that he had brought her into this, that she had become irrevocably involved.

“We must see this as an advantage”, he explained against all reason, “and use it as such. Maybe you will have more dreams that’ll give us more information. It may sound harsh to you, but I must ask you not to block them out. I shall also teach you a few things. Mind things. I think you might have a knack for it.”

There was a little hope in her eyes. “Alright”, she said monotonously.

“And fighting, too”, he added for good measure, “for real, this time.”

She gave a rueful smile. “You almost make this sound enticing.”

“We must put in a lot of work the next two weeks because I will be going back to Hogwarts.”

Her eyes became wide, there was even a hint of desperation in them that touched him in a weird way.

“But I shall safeguard your house”, he promised hurriedly. “I already have, but I will do more. I shall know immediately if there is a problem.”

“You know, all this has only just hit me …”

“I know”, he whispered. He wanted to say that he was sorry but it wouldn’t have made any difference.

After a few moments of embarrassing silence, Snape said his good-byes and Elena accompanied him to the door.

“Prepare yourself for a lot of studying in the next few weeks”, he counselled her, although he’d already told her that, but first and foremost to have something to say. “I’m afraid there is no way around it.”

She gave him a wan smile. “Well, good thing I got the Time …”, she stopped short while her hand reached up to her chest where it found – nothing. She stared at him and Snape tried hard to suppress a grin. In his right hand which was hidden deeply in his robes pocket, he held a golden chain and a pendant having an hourglass shape.

“You _bastard_!” she breathed, but her face was kind, her eyes even danced a bit. As a result, the word ‘bastard’ didn’t come out as abuse at all, but actually sounded rather affectionately. It made the heat rise in Snape’s face, and so he quickly turned away and left the Crawford house.

 

 

Back home, he poured the Fire Whiskey into the kitchen sink. He had to stay alert, he couldn’t drink himself into oblivion any longer. Then he turned to his books on the desk and tried again, resolving that it must be for real and in earnest this time, he knew how it was, there was always something you missed. However, he found that he still couldn’t concentrate and he knew why. He had to face the hippogriff in the room first.

Finally, Severus Snape admitted to himself that he was afraid, sometimes close to panic. However, it wasn’t for himself, it was for her. During the last few days, he had also caught himself thinking about her constantly, he had been missing her face. Snape knew very well what this meant. He was falling for her.

He lay back against the headrest of his desk chair and sighed. Not this. Not now. But he knew that no dark spell existed to root _that_ out.

On the one hand, he felt surprise and even a mild amusement that this should happen since he had been dead-sure that he was destined to only ever fancy one girl in his life. In fact, he still thought of Lily every day, he would cherish her memory always. But his thoughts were not exclusively for her anymore.

The memories of Lily he had these days were the painful ones, those of rejection and disappointment. That was his main reason of dismay. He hated to feel this helplessness again, this dependence of his whole well-being on the capriciousness of a woman. It was an experience he hadn’t enjoyed the first time round and he had no wish to repeat it. However, he knew that it was inevitable. He simply had missed the point where he still could have ripped Elena out of his life. Before that day of the Patronus it would still have been possible. Now it was too late.

He remembered Elena’s sweat-soaked arms around and her hot body pressed against him, and he let out a small moan. Desire had become abstract to him, to the point where he had convinced himself that he didn’t have it in himself anymore. He had been wrong.

Slowly, Snape got up and walked over to his desk. He slipped the Time Turner – the catch of which he’d released when she’d been in his arm – and locked it in the secret compartment. In doing so, he couldn’t help smiling. Then he went up to the bedroom. He knew that sleep would elude him for a long time tonight since he’d got rid of all the Fire Whiskey. He would be tossing and turning, as she had done, but with his eyes wide open. He would think of her, fear for her, and all this would be disgustingly familiar. Love was a martyrdom of sorts. But then, he’d always known that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	20. For Real, This Time

**For Real, This Time**

 

Elena choked. Her back was up against the wall and the pressure on her windpipe increased steadily, making her head spin while she was fighting for air. She flailed her arms and the pressure weakened. Exhausted, she sank to the floor.

“Bloody hell!” she coughed.

Snape came towards her and helped her up. He looked uncomfortable.

“You wanted me to do it”, he said defensively.

“I did”, she agreed, wheezing. “I need to know what it feels like so that I can do it myself. – I don’t have to thank you, though, do I?”

“No.” He gave her a hard look. “And you’re welcome to reciprocate.”

She grinned, regaining her composure. “You mean I get to choke my teacher? Great!”

A fleeting sarcastic smile appeared on his features. “Let’s see about that.”

But it was hard. In fact, using the choking spell wore her out much more than him. However, he reminded her that this was ‘very advanced magic’ and on the whole, he seemed satisfied with the result. He had finally started to teach her fighting spells in earnest, not only to defend herself but also to attack. Choking someone to blackout was elegant, but it required a lot of concentration and at least as much inner strength as doing it with bare hands would have required muscular strength. Another thing altogether was the _Sectumsempra_. The day before, he had demonstrated it to her on a stray dog. At first, she had been shocked.

“Are you fucking crazy??” she had shouted at him, staring at the poor animal lying on the ground in their usual practising arena in the nearby woods, riddled with cuts, whimpering pitifully.

Snape had rolled his eyes and proceeded to heal the dog with a complex incantation that had completely closed the bloodied cuts. Soon after, the animal had been up and running, although it wouldn’t come near them again. They had had to look for another stray dog for Elena to try.

“That one’s vicious”, she had declared after successfully managing it and after Snape had finished his healing routine under her careful supervision. “Who thinks up such jinxes?”

“I did”, he had explained.

“ _You_ invented that spell?” In spite of herself and what it had done, she had been impressed. Snape had nodded, looking pleased with himself. “How does one do that? Create new spells?”

“It is very difficult. Most wizards and witches never get round to that.”

Ah, another example of the greatness of Severus Snape. She had cocked an ironic eyebrow at him.

“It suits you. Quick, cutting and _severe_.” His eyes had darkened at that remark, but Elena had been in no mood to spare him. “Let me see – _Sectumsempra_ , ‘cut forever’, or ‘severed forever’. It’s a play on your name, isn’t it?”

If he’d been impressed by her knowledge of Latin, he didn’t let on. “I can assure you, it isn’t the worst spell by far that dark magic has to offer”, he’d claimed instead.

Which had brought them to the choking thing.

On the whole, Elena was pleased with the direction their lessons were taking. It seemed to her that Snape was finally taking her seriously. He had also started to introduce her to Legilimency and Occlumency, or rather, to some preparatory mind methods. They were even harder than the choking spell, but it was a good exercise in concentrating her magical energy, even if the outcome was still very feeble. In addition to that, Snape had installed a number of spells around her house, which had been difficult enough to achieve without Anna noticing. Eventually, he had given her one of his Foe Glasses.

“It will blink in case of an unknown magical presence”, he had explained to her. “If that happens, you are to call on me immediately.”

“And how, pray tell?”

He had then shown her a neat little spell that would make his wand vibrate if she used it. It worked both ways and was an immense relief to her.

The prospect of Snape leaving for Hogwarts so soon troubled her quite a bit. On the one hand, she was happy for him because he seemed to have regained some interest in his future. On the other hand, she felt much safer with him around. Time and again, she had to remind herself that the real threat was to him, not to her. However, finding Clive Carnegie with a cut throat had made that difficult, not to mention her dream in which she and Snape had been trapped in a fire and which still sent a shiver down her spine. Most of the time, she tried not to think about it, although more often than not she couldn’t help it. It also troubled her that she hadn’t had a dream since then.

“You’re probably blocking the visions unconsciously”, Snape had explained, “because you are afraid of them. I’ve got a few exercises prepared for you that might help them flow.”

Preparation was his element, no doubt. He had given her books on Divination and Prophecies and told her everything he knew about it. Yet, that was purely theoretical. Snape was quite ready to admit that he had no prescient talents whatsoever, that he even mistrusted them. However, he made an exception in her case and clearly, that exception was self-serving.

The last few days, she had reserved almost exclusively for her magical studies, going so far even as to call in sick at the dancing school on the grounds of food poisoning. They had accepted it straight away, although that had done nothing to alleviate her nagging conscience. She needed the practice, however, and a small relief was that Snape occasionally granted her a grudging access to the Time Turner – he still held that her thinking was far too independent to let her have it permanently – never forgetting to collect it by the end of the day. The real problem was Anna. She watched suspiciously every time Elena went over to Snape’s house. It was true that she had accepted the strange neighbour’s presence in her niece’s life, but she also sensed that said life had become more complex by it.

“What about university?” she demanded. “Wasn’t it your plan to catch up?”

“I will. Just not right now.”

“Ellie, are you sure you know what you’re doing? I can understand that this man holds a certain fascination for you, but whatever you two are doing, you shouldn’t jeopardize your future because of it.”

Elena couldn’t well explain to Anna that she was doing everything _not_ to jeopardize her future too much, so she merely smiled and said “Trust me, auntie, I know very well what I’m doing.”

“You haven’t fallen in love with him, have you?” Anna asked frowning.

Elena stared back at her. “What gives you that idea?”

“The way you look at him. The way he looks at you.”

Elena waved that away. In her eyes, there was nothing special about the way Snape looked at her. Most of the time, he scrutinized her either arrogantly or doubtfully or in a downright irritated way. “You’re imagining things”, she told her aunt, but kindly. “He’s just … teaching me stuff, like I told you.”

“Yes, and I don’t want to know the details. But I hope you realize, Ellie, that he is a very … complex man. It is a common mistake we women make that we always hook ourselves to the difficult types when we should really try to find a _nice_ man.”

‘A boring one, you mean’, Elena thought.

“At least promise me you won’t let him cow or coerce you”, Anna insisted. “With a man like that, you must never show any weakness or he will take advantage of it. Stay independent. Stay your own woman, even at the cost of chasing him off.”

For what it was worth, this sounded like good advice. It also made her tingle a little inside. Elena hugged her aunt cheerfully, kissed her on the cheek and took off to Snape’s.

 

* * *

 

“What made you decide to go back to Hogwarts?” she asked him one day, exhausted after an intense hour of mind practice (basically, the exercises consisted in Snape saying ‘blue elephant’ and Elena trying _not_ to think of precisely that). He was a little easier to talk to these days, although she knew very well that this had a lot to do with bad conscience about what he had gotten her into. On the plus side, he was occasionally prepared to reply to the odd personal question.

“I have to do something”, he said with a shrug. “Even in the wizarding world, one has to make ends meet.”

“What about becoming a healer?”

He thought about this for a bit. “To be honest, I’ve been a healer of sorts ever since I started as a teacher at Hogwarts. I used to make all the potions for the hospital wing. If there was any dark affliction that our matron couldn’t handle, they used to call me. It is a school and the tykes pick up diseases all the time. Or they jinx each other. Puberty is a very peculiar affliction in itself.”

She smiled at that. “You’re right. It’s kind of a disease. But don’t they require gentleness and good advice?”

He sneered. “That’s what the matron is for.”

“And your job is basically to scare them out of whatever madness is riding them?”

“Yes”, he replied flatly, not detecting the irony in her words.

“Poor kids”, Elena giggled. “They must live in fear of you.”

“I believe in a healthy distance between teachers and their disciples. It is quite right that they should live in different spheres.”

“Quite an old-fashioned and authoritative approach”, she commented.

“There’s no use in mollycoddling students”, he stated coolly. “In my experience, it doesn’t go down well with them. They only loose respect and overstep boundaries. I have been told in the past that I’m too harsh with them. But then, a lot of my colleagues are too soft. What I’m really doing is creating a counter-balance.”

Elena bit down on a laugh. Thank God she wasn’t a kid anymore. She doubted that she would have liked to see said ‘counter-balance’ in action from the point of view of someone utterly dependent on Snape’s goodwill. “So you found out that being a teacher is your best option, after all?” she asked instead.

“Maybe not the best one”, he admitted. “But Hogwarts is short of staff and still in a very damaged state. There are also some … remnants from the war …”

“Remnants?”

“Ah”, he breathed, waving the subject away. However, after a few seconds he decided differently. “There is a space, obviously created during that last year of the war when the followers of the Dark Lord … well, my associates … were in control …”

“What kind of space?”

“It holds artefacts. Portkeys, as far as I could tell.”

“What are portkeys?”

“A portkey is a means of transportation. Very useful for long-distance travel.”

“And where do those portkeys lead?”

“I don’t know and I haven’t tried. They might lead to very dark places where you wouldn’t go just for a lark. It is another job for the Ministry, if they ever get to it.”

“Have you told them?”

“No.” There was a very brief look of chagrin on Snape’s face – he’d clearly forgotten about it. “Lately, a lot got in the way. In the end, I’ll probably end up stuck with the job of investigating them, anyway. Not right now, however. Right now, I want you to concentrate …”

Elena sighed. These days, she found it a little easier to distract him. However, her attempts were never good for any considerable length of time. A minute later, they were back to his mind games.

 

* * *

 

At night, she had vivid dreams. However, although she detected some recurring patterns, they didn’t exactly seem to have a visionary quality. Sometimes the flames came back and with them the claustrophobic feeling of being stuck, with no escape. However, these dreams were just weak shadows of that first original nightmare from which Snape had woken her up. This helped Elena to half persuade herself that the dream had never had any significance in the first place. Everything else she tried to ignore and to push to the far end of her subconscious.

There was only one dream that left some kind of impression. It was a very short sequence in which she watched her own Patronus, the silver raven, searing into the air towards a high tower that stood forlorn in a deserted landscape. The raven cawed, spreading its wings as it circled the tower. Right then, the building was struck by an enormous flash of lightning and burst into flames right away, its foundations shaken, its bricks exploding into all directions while the structure crumbled and turned to a cloud of fiery dust.

Elena woke from the dream panting. Again, she was drenched in sweat and her heart was racing. Wildly, she stared around her darkened box room and only calmed down after she had switched on the small lamp on the nightstand.

Had that been a vision? One of those that Snape had told her to look out for and to tell him about? Maybe. However, what meaning might it have? A raven circling a tower which was then struck by lightning … it couldn’t possibly have anything to do with their problem, with the threat they were facing, could it? Elena thought about it long and hard, but she couldn’t come up with any interpretation and that made the dream appear insignificant. After all, she couldn’t possibly bother Snape with every stupid dream she was having.

After a while, she calmed down and tried to go back to sleep. Shortly before she went under again, something occurred to her. The lightning-struck tower. Something about that was familiar. But why?

Then she remembered, and she remembered it with a sleepy giggle. Tarot cards. Of course. The lightning-struck tower was a Tarot card motive. As a teenager, she’d been fascinated by that kind of stuff – card reading, palm reading, horoscopes … These days, she found that kind of interest embarrassing, especially because she had since learnt that the Muggle concept of divination methods were in most cases completely flawed and misunderstood. A true wizard or witch, for instance, never used a horoscope to predict happy marriages or an influx of money. Much rather, horoscopes were a means of inspecting the current quality of time that made certain events more or less likely. Card reading was similar and perhaps even more surrounded and obstructed by myths.

No, she couldn’t possibly tell Snape about her teenage fascination for Tarot cards. He would laugh at her, tell her that it was unworthy of a true witch. She also wouldn’t tell him that she remembered precisely the meaning of that very card, the lightning-struck tower: destruction of existing structures, complete disillusionment, the breaking down of values, the complete extinction of everything held dear and worthy. The most dangerous and harrowing card in the whole deck, more worrying indeed than The Death which so many people feared, but which merely signified rebirth. The Tower, however, was utter carnage.

Only a few seconds later, sleep had conquered her. It was gracious and spared her any further dreams. The next day, she woke up revived and eager for the new day and the things she would learn.

Busy with so many things, Elena completely forgot about the lightning-struck tower.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	21. The Muggle Slytherin

**The Muggle Slytherin**

 

… “Elliot, Peter!”

“ _Ravenclaw_!”

“Greengrass, Cassius!”

“ _Slytherin_!”

“Hincks, Marielle!”

“ _Gryffindor_!”

Severus Snape leant back in his comfortable chair at the staff table and stared towards the enchanted ceiling, seemingly bored, but actually feeling as contented as he was able to feel at this time of his life. So he was back to the drill, The Great Hall was filled with students occupying the lengths of the dining tables, thousands of candles hovering above them and the sorting procedure in full swing. Snape noted the new additions to his house at the periphery of his mind only – he would remember their names, anyway, since there were hardly any surprises (they were almost always the same family names) and he had a good memory for them – while thinking of entirely different things. He didn’t like festive occasions and the turmoil that went with them, but there was no way out of this one and he had a long-standing practice of suffering through such events in almost complete absentmindedness. He reminded himself that he had to complete the application for an Apparition class with the Ministry of Transportation for Elena. It was about time that she learnt, although she wasn’t yet registered as a witch and foreign at that, so the process was tricky and bureaucratic. At the moment, he was still trying to get through all the paperwork which sat on the desk in his office and he hoped that this stupid little party of the loud-mouthed Sorting Hat would be over before long.

“Hollis, Cindy!”

“ _Ravenclaw_!”

“Jarrett, Isabelle!”

“ _Gryffindor_!”

He only allowed himself to overlook the swarming tables every once in a while, first and foremost because of the looks he got back. Snape had not been able to ignore the wide eyes that met him from all sides. Most of them were of disbelieving awe. He was the man who had risen from the dead. He was also the man that nobody knew what to think about, whether to call him hero or traitor. The reaction of his Slytherins had been particularly complex. There had been covert sneers and dirty looks. Not a small number of them had family members in jail, and here he was, the ready scapegoat. He sighed at the prospect of keeping them in line this year. Snape had no doubt that he would be able to discipline a bunch of raucous teenagers, however, he didn’t feel like it at all.

“Lattimer, Jamie!”

“ _Ravenclaw_!”

“Macmillan, Marjorie!”

“ _Hufflepuff_!”

“Nott, Damian!”

“ _Slytherin_!”

Not one Slytherin yet that didn’t come from a pure-blood family. Snape remembered the cautions that his mother had given him when he had first come to Hogwarts. Not to bother the pure-bloods, but not be bullied by them, either. Show them who he was and what he could do, as they would respect cleverness and magical prowess. He had followed up on that faithfully and it had served him well. After the first difficult years, they had been prepared to forget his half-blood status and more or less accepted him as one of their own. To achieve this, however, he’d had to work hard. True Slytherins were not easily impressed.

“Nugent, Everett!”

“ _Hufflepuff_!”

“Paik, Laurie!”

“ _Slytherin_!”

It was the complete absence of cheers, replaced by a buzz of whispers, that jolted him out of his thoughts. What had happened? His Slytherins sat dumbstruck, staring in disbelieve as a small thin girl hopped from the stool onto which she had been placed for the sorting and crept towards their table, shoulders hunched a little. He saw a pair of tattered jeans showing under her school robes, and dirty sneakers, the same kind that Elena always wore and which Muggles referred to as ‘Chucks’. She was small and thin, her hair a bluish black and her features suggested an Asian heritage. The surname – Paik – Snape had never heard before in these walls. That didn’t really mean anything. However, he couldn’t help noticing the look on Minerva McGonagall’s face. She stood stiffly, Sorting Hat in hand, and her expression was nothing short of shocked.

“Why, that’s remarkable”, Filius Flitwick on his left chuckled quietly. “A Muggle-born in Slytherin?”

“Hardly”, Snape hissed back, “you must be mistaken.”

“I’m certain”, Flitwick insisted, “we talked about this girl in the teachers’ meeting, remember? She’s the one who’s getting funded by the Ministry of Magic because she comes from a … precarious background.”

In fact, Snape couldn’t remember at all. He suffered through teachers’ meetings much in the same way as he did through festivities. A little dismayed now, he watched the girl who sat hunched at the Slytherin table. She seemed to know exactly that she didn’t belong there, even if it hadn’t been for the cold looks she received from all sides. Nobody had said a kind word or patted her on the shoulder, and from the first moment she was some kind of an alien, an aberration.

“Maybe the Sorting Hat is getting old”, Snape murmured. “I hear it got thrashed up pretty badly in the Battle?”

Flitwick gazed at him sternly. “Why, this is certainly not the first Muggle in Slytherin, even if it has been for decades. I hope you’ll find a better excuse if you want to get rid of her than blaming the _Sorting Hat_. – Haven’t changed much, have you?”

Snape merely raised his eyebrows, but didn’t reply. How often had he heard this remark in the last few days? Why did everybody expect him to have changed when it rather seemed to him that _everybody else_ hadn’t changed and still insisted on putting the worst possible interpretation on everything he said? It reminded him of something that Dumbledore had told him once: ‘You see what you expect …’ Well, at least that didn’t exclusively apply to him.

He received more proof of this fact as the start-of-year procedure finally ended. Relieved, Snape drew his cloak around himself, eager to vanish into the shadows of the dark corridors and retreat to his private quarters in the dungeons. On his way, he almost ran into Hermione Granger who was walking in the opposite direction.

At first, he stared a little before it occurred to him that, in fact, she was back, doing her seventh year properly, as had been mentioned in the teacher’s meeting, as well. Obviously, she didn’t think that the last year spent on the run with Potter and Weasley had prepared her for a great future, although Snape would have held that it was worth ten seventh years at Hogwarts. However, he respected ambition and the will to work hard, and of the ‘Golden Trio’ Granger had always been the lesser evil to him. That didn’t mean, however, that he had any intention of returning the friendly smile and nod she turned towards him. Instead, he feigned preoccupation and merely dashed past. It was in this moment that McGonagall called after him.

“Severus! Just a quick word, if you please …”

He stopped, sighed, and turned what he hoped would look like an impassive face towards her. “Yes, headmistress?”

“We’ve got quite a situation here”, McGonagall announced.

“We do?”

“Didn’t you notice?” She stared at him adamantly. “Laurie Paik? She was sorted into your house!”

“So she _is_ a Muggle-born …”, he murmured.

“We spoke about her in the teachers’ meeting ...”

“Yes, yes, I remember”, he lied.

“… she’s not only a Muggle-born, but the first Muggle-born to be sorted into Slytherin for many years, why, _for decades_!”

“I was suggesting to Filius that there might be something wrong with the Sorting Hat …”

“I beg your pardon? There is _nothing_ wrong with the Sorting Hat! – Severus, you don’t seem to realize that this is a very extraordinary event!”

Now she was exaggerating a little – after all, there had been Muggles sorted into Slytherin, albeit rarely – but Snape knew better than to tell her that.

“It is also a very difficult position”, McGonagall went on, “difficult for the girl, specifically. I trust you noticed how your little Slytherins reacted …”

“Little Slytherins will be little Slytherins”, Snape replied acidly.

“And it is _your_ job to keep them in check!” McGonagall huffed. “Don’t tell me that you don’t know exactly what will happen to a Muggle-born in Slytherin! To ignore her will be the kindest thing that they may be doing!”

“Meaning?” he sighed, longing for the shadowy solitude of the dungeons.

“Meaning that I hold you responsible for the fate of this girl!”

“Me??” He stared at her in disbelieve now.

“Of course _you_!” A faint spray of spittle issued from the headmistress’s mouth. “You are her Head of House! You’re her mentor, the one she’s going to look up to …”

“Ah, yes”, he mumbled, miffed by the liberal interpretation McGonagall put on his position.

“Don’t you ‘ah, yes’ me! You always say that when you really mean something entirely different! This girl comes from a difficult background. Dead father, a drunk for a stepfather, half a dozen siblings, a poky flat in a London ghetto … in short, she’s had a bad start to begin with and her experience at Hogwarts mustn’t add to that!”

They stared at each other belligerently.

“What will you have me do?” Snape asked finally. “Am I to baby-sit her twenty-four-seven? Am I to become some kind of … social counsellor?” His acquaintance with Elena had somewhat expanded his vocabulary, he realized.

“I don’t care!” cried McGonagall. “Whatever you do, just make sure that she doesn’t get beat up or jinxed to pieces or bogey-batted or … _whatever_! We are responsible for the education of our students, not for ensuring that they are constantly bullied!”

“You know very well that Slytherins have their own way of doing things”, Snape growled. “It has always been so, even when I was a student. It’s true, I’m their Head of House, but I can’t be there to see what they are up to all the time!”

“Then make sure that they’ll walk the line when you’re not! – And make no mistake, Severus: the minute anything serious happens to Laurie Paik, you will have to answer for it!”

With that, she turned on her heel and swept down the corridor, forestalling any further discussion. Snape stared after her, fuming inside. Quickly, he weighed his options, but found that they were slim. So, after some minutes of deliberation, he made up his mind and took off towards the dungeons.

 

* * *

 

The Slytherin common room was swarming with students in a raucous mood, sort of happy to see each other again after the long summer vacation and after the turmoil that had preceded it. All in all, it was quite an innocuous scene and might make anyone believe that the boys and girls in this house weren’t any different from ordinary teens. Snape knew very well that regaling each other with the dark jinxes they’d learnt over the holidays – but hadn’t been allowed to practice during that time – was an integral part of the fun, a fun he didn’t plan on taking from them. He also knew that underneath the bragging lay something entirely different.

When approaching the common room, he heard the warning whispers from afar.

“Smarten up, it’s Snape!”

“Head of House coming through!”

He entered and pairs of eyes turned towards him, wide with apprehension and also – he couldn’t help notice – scorn or something more serious. Alexander Flint, one of the Prefects, held up the door for him, trying hard to look servile.

“Good evening, sir, good to see you.”

“Thank you, Mr Flint”, Snape answered tersely, “would you be so kind to ensure me some degree of attention?”

However, it wasn’t really necessary. The chatter and laughter had died down already and blank faces stared at him. Hard-to-read faces, too, but then that was part of the Slytherin way: never give away too much, and specifically not too soon.

“Listen up, everybody!” Flint hollered out anyway. “Your Head of House’s got something to say!”

In a corner by the fireplace, Snape spotted Laurie Paik sitting all by herself. No black eyes or burnt hair (hair-combustion jinxes being the latest fashion), she seemed alright. Also, she gazed at him critically as if to say ‘Now, what kind of plonker are _you_?’ Snape looked hard at them all and the last trace of commotion died down.

“Good evening, Ladies and Gentlemen”, he said in his usual silky voice which was low, but still carried to the last corner of the common room. “I’m glad to see you all in good health.” It was the furthest he would ever go in the way of sentimentalities. Never would it have occurred to him to issue the usual start-of-year drivel that Dumbledore had been so good at and which McGonagall was eagerly copying. “Just a quick word before I leave you to your … business”, Snape went on. He would have liked to say ‘antics’, but feared that it would encourage them to run wild. “I’m not going to beat about the bush, so listen carefully. – This House has a bad reputation.” He stopped there and glowered at them to let his words sink in. “You all know why that is. And as much as you may not like it, you will have to get used to the fact that you as Slytherins are under more scrutiny than ever before. That may seem unfair to you – and I’d agree – however, life has never been fair and those of you who haven’t yet cottoned on to this fact better get used to it.”

Mutinous looks lashed back at him and there were a few suppressed hisses, but Snape ignored all that. “Now, as your Head of House, your misbehaviour will get back to me and although some of you may give a rat’s arse about that …”, sniggers flared up, but he silenced them with one cold flash of his black eyes, “… I certainly do not and will not hesitate to punish any stepping-out-of-line in the way I see fit, Slytherin or not.”

“We don’t want to give you any trouble, sir”, Astoria Greengrass, another Prefect, piped up.

“Sucker!” somebody spat and Astoria’s cheeks turned red.

“Thank you, Ms Greengrass”, Snape said smoothly. “I rely on your and Mr Flint’s help to keep your housemates in check this year. – Specifically, I want to impress on you all”, now he addressed the crowd again and took a deep breath before he went on, “that you are all sitting in the same boat. So I suggest that you help and support each other. All of you. No exceptions.”

Complete silence fell. It was uncomfortable and also a little offended. They had understood exactly what he meant, of that he was certain. Slytherins, after all, were many things, but not stupid.

“Thank you”, he purred and turned to leave, trusting in the effect of his words.

“Sir?” a voice rang out.

He wheeled around. “Yes?”

It was Christabel Bullstrode, a fifth-year. Like her older sister Millicent, she was a bit of a lump and not easily intimidated. “Is it true that you were dead, sir?”

Now they all stared at him, eager for an answer. Snape was on the verge of replying his usual ‘I don’t know’, but he realized that it would hardly impress them and not help his objectives, either. He decided to try a new approach.

“Yes”, he said evenly. “And you know what, Ms Bullstrode? It made me care even less about what anyone might think about me. So you better don’t put my back up.”

With that, he swept out of the common room, however, not before catching a look of the new girl, Laurie Paik, the Muggle Slytherin. She had appeared bored and doubtful during his speech – suggesting that she was made of quite hard stuff and not easily impressed, which _was_ , after all, a quality of the house she had been sorted into – but now her features wore an impression of incredulity. Her dark eyes pierced his as if she was looking for a shred of truth, something to rely on. Snape had to admit to himself that he was eager to see how she would do in class. Although he rarely acknowledged it, he knew from his own private experience that the greatest surprises frequently came from Muggle-borns …

 

* * *

 

As he walked towards his quarters, he passed the portrait of Morgan le Fay which hung prominently in the corridor. It was an accepted fact among Slytherins that, if Hogwarts had already existed in Morgan’s days, she would have been one of them. It was quite a pleasing portrait, albeit dark, and certainly originated from the artist’s imagination. It showed a beautiful woman with long wallowing black hair, fair skin and full red lips. It was also quite an erotic picture – she was depicted as buxom, with rounded hips and a small waist – and had inspired the fantasy of many a generation of adolescent male Slytherins.

At the moment, however, Morgan had company and she looked none too pleased about it. It was Albus Dumbledore standing by her side, blue eyes a-twinkling.

“Good evening, Severus”, he accosted the passing man.

Snape stopped, looking confused. “Hello”, he said with some hesitation.

“It’s good to have you back here”, the former headmaster said amiably. “You had me worried for a while, you know. That you wouldn’t come back …”

“Because he’s _such_ an addition to the staff”, Morgan murmured ironically, glowering at Snape. “And so handsome, too …”

Snape ignored her. “It was a spur-of-the-moment decision”, he explained curtly.

“And a good one, I daresay”, Dumbledore said, looking as if he wanted to congratulate him.

“Balderdash”, nagged Morgan and pouted, “he’s got nothing better to do …”

“I heard there’s been an interesting development”, Dumbledore went on, for his part ignoring the sarcastic witch. “A Muggle girl sorted into Slytherin! That certainly hasn’t happened for quite a long time …”

“Not you, as well!” groaned Snape. “McGonagall already gave me an earful …”

“I can only imagine.” Dumbledore issued a delighted little chuckle. “Though I must say it makes me ponder. And hope, too.”

“Why?” asked Snape.

“Because it is a true sign that times are changing”, explained Dumbledore, looking serious now. “The past years have left an imprint on the magical world’s soul. Probably more profoundly so than we first acknowledged …”

“You think?”

“Why, Severus, certainly there must be a meaning to this. Why else would a Muggle be sorted into Slytherin, which is such a rare event in itself, and at this point in time at that?”

“Personally, I believe the Sorting Hat has gone wacky”, Snape held forth, challenging Dumbledore to castigate him in the same way as Flitwick and McGonagall had. However, the painted man only laughed.

“Believe me, Severus, when I tell you this: there are no coincidences …”

“Speaking of which”, Snape said quickly, remembering something, “the box you gave me …”

“Oh, yes! Are you finding its contents useful?”

“The books are great. Merlin’s Code, specifically …” He broke off. Showing appreciation was not his strong suit.

“You gave him Merlin’s Code??” Morgan hissed. “ _My Merlin’s Code_?”

“It was never yours, my dear, though God knows you did everything in your power to get it.”

“However, there is an item that I can’t figure out”, Snape went on. “The one that looks like a nutcracker?”

Dumbledore smiled mysteriously. “Yeah, I thought that one might puzzle you …”

“What is it for?”

“Dumbass”, Morgan hissed, glowering scornfully at Snape.

“Oh, that one you’ve got to figure out yourself, Severus!” Dumbledore exclaimed and once more, his bright blue eyes were twinkling. “Where would the fun be if I spelt everything out for you?”

“But what use is it going to be to me if I don’t know what it is for?” Snape argued a little heatedly. He hated it when Dumbledore behaved in a patronizing way. He also hated not knowing something.

“It is my experience that the most useful items only reveal themselves at an hour of need”, explained Dumbledore, “and I’d hate to deprive you of that experience.”

“Well, thank you very much”, Snape huffed.

“You will find out”, Dumbledore said confidently. “But until then … don’t ignore the dark powers still present in this castle …”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“… and keep your eye on the Muggle girl. You seem to pick those up, don’t you?”

Before Snape could say any more, Dumbledore had turned and left the portrait. Damn, why was everyone walking out on him these days? Slouching along the corridor and unlocking the door to his quarters, Snape pondered the old man’s words. Now that he was thinking about it, he wasn’t entirely sure just which Muggle girl Albus had meant …

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	22. Witch Maudlin

**Witch Maudlin**

 

“Destination, deliberation, determination”, Elena muttered irritably. Then she got frustrated and tossed the book aside. Screw Apparition! She would never get her head around it …

For three weeks now, she’d been attending the course with the Ministry of Transportation that Snape had signed her up for, but it was very hard indeed. In the secure environment the Ministry provided for practice, she hadn’t once yet managed to Apparate properly, but had only ‘splinched herself’, as it was called, leaving some body part or other behind. The Ministry’s instructor had assured her that this was normal and that nobody managed at the first few attempts, let alone “somebody so obviously new to magic as you”.

Elena realized that she was spoilt. Up until now, everything had gone very well for her in her magical studies and even if there had been problems – as with the Patronus – she had been successful eventually. Lately, even her mind games with Snape were starting to go somewhere. Only last Saturday, she had managed to intrude into his thoughts. Granted, he’d probably deliberately let his guard down and granted her access so that she would know what it felt like. She had caught a glimpse of a red-haired girl standing on a clearing, the very same clearing – if she wasn’t mistaken – where Snape usually took her for practicing fighting spells, before he had thrown her out of his mental landscape with no effort at all.

Still, from all she knew by now, she’d been able to guess who that little girl was. Quite against her will, it had made her itch. ‘Is he still so much in love with her?’ she’d asked herself, but before long she had tossed the thought aside, concentrating on the lesson. What use was it, anyway, to feel jealous about a dead girl?

Since Severus Snape had taken off to Hogwarts, their lessons had been relayed exclusively to the weekend, and even then duties sometimes held him at the school. He usually gave her the reason – last time, he had mumbled something about ‘Quidditch try-outs’ which she hadn’t understood at all – but still Elena always felt some degree of chagrin. She had gotten so used to having him around. And then there was the fear always lurking at the back of her mind.

It would have been easy to trick herself into believing that the threat was gone. There had been no incidence, she hadn’t seen the black owl that delivered the bloody parchments again and the Foe Glass that Snape had given her never blinked. In addition, she always reminded herself that the true threat was to him, not to her. But if anything, that only increased her discomfort because it made her worry for him. In the first two weeks after Snape had left, she had on two occasions sent him an impulsive owl – the one Remus Lupin had given her needed some exercise, after all – reading _Are you alright?_ or _You haven’t been turned into a dog leash yet, have you?_ , respectively. Every time, the answer had been very characteristic: _Stop pestering me!_ , as if she needed proof that he wasn’t Prince Charming.

On the whole, though, he was OK with her, certainly more so than he had been at the outset of their lessons and probably far more OK than he was with most people. Sometimes, this allowed her to harbour the illusion that he actually liked her. When that happened, an unconscious smile came to her face. She wanted him to like her. Actually, she very much wanted him to like her …

She knew it was stupid. Severus Snape was an unemotional ice queen who seemed to have squandered all his capacity of feeling on a red-haired girl, and Elena feared that it had left him empty inside. Yet, she couldn’t help herself. She thought about him all the time. She noticed how her emotions inhibited her and sometimes even kept her from being her cheerful self. Lately, she was often morose, overly sensitive and lost in thought. Snape didn’t get it, of course, precisely because he didn’t care.

A recent dream had only exacerbated the situation. In it, she had kissed him – daringly – on the mouth. After a few seconds of shock, he had responded and in her dream the response had been passionate, to the point where he had almost devoured her. This was how she had known that it was only an ordinary dream – not a vision – because not for the life of her could she picture Snape kissing anyone passionately. Even so, it had been a beautiful dream. She had woken up from it with burning cheeks and wet panties. It had felt as if she’d been running a fever and Elena was convinced that she was indeed sick, at least in a manner of speaking.

Of course, she had been infatuated before. As a teenager she had fallen for someone else every other month. She knew that it would pass. Whenever she reminded herself of that, however, her heart ached painfully. She didn’t _want_ to fall out of it because feeling like that not only made her sad, but at the same time ecstatically happy. She wasn’t interested in reciprocation since it was so unlikely. The only thing she wanted was to not stop seeing him. She had also given up on telling herself that he was ugly, sarcastic and cold. First of all, she didn’t think of him as ugly; not as handsome, either, but certainly as unique. The sarcasm she had come to love because it was his way of interacting. The coldness only made her want to learn more about him, specifically about how he had come to be like this.

She had asked Remus about it. Lately, Lupin and she had intensified their contact. The Ministry man had agreed to Apparate at Anna’s house in the mornings of Elena’s Apparition class to take her to the Ministry – a practical necessity that had completely escaped Snape.

“Was he always like that?” she had wanted to know one day, earning a frown from Lupin.

“Afraid so. Certainly, Severus has never been an endearing type. He was a bully, not very popular, although he didn’t give a fart about that, and never tried to get into anyone’s good graces apart from his Slytherin housemates. And even there, he didn’t really need it, because he was way better than all of them together.”

“So he was always that brilliant?”

“Yes. Though I didn’t like the way he used his talents.”

“Did you know that he was … in love with …”

“Lily?” Remus had smirked at her. “I guessed. I mean, he never liked me and my friends, but the beef between Severus and James was far to heated to not be personal. It took me a while to figure it out, but by our fifth year I was pretty certain that it was mostly about Lily.”

“Was she worth it?” Elena asked with knitted brows.

“Every bit of it”, Remus had replied. “She was kind, very pretty, vivacious – I daresay every other boy at Hogwarts fancied her at some point. She had a way of seeing the good in everyone. Otherwise, I guess she would never have been friends with Severus for such a long time …”

‘I already hate her’, Elena had thought. ‘Bloody Ms Goody-Two-Shoes …’

“So there _was_ something good in him”, she’d said instead.

Remus had given her a long hard look. “Isn’t there in everyone? Good and evil, they are present in all of us. But in some people, the good gets buried deep down. Although I daresay Severus has changed. To most of us, it may not be perceptible, but I think he has.”

He had winked at her then and Elena had done her best to appear indifferent. She wasn’t quite sure that she’d managed very well, though.

It was a strange time in her life. Things seemed to be hanging in the air, unresolved, in a precarious balance. Elena was jumpy and often felt as if somebody was watching her. What she didn’t know was whether this hunch was healthy intuition or brought on by her general nervousness. She felt she couldn’t trust herself anymore and on top of that were her feelings for Snape that brought her a moody state between exhilaration, suspicion and fear for him.

One day, she found her Tarot deck among the clutter in the bottom drawer of her bedroom cupboard. She shuffled it, more out of boredom than anything else, and impulsively chose one single card. Sure enough, it was The Hanged Man, a mirror of her current microcosm and no surprise at all.

‘Maybe I _do_ have a knack for this’, she thought. Yet, the subject of Tarot cards still seemed far too superstitious to her to talk to Snape about. So she merely put up the card on one of the panel skirtings in her room, sombrely meditating on it every now and then …

 

The dancing lessons, at least, brought her some distraction. Music, rhythm and how to transform these into precise and elegant motions was a godsend at these times because she was able to completely loose herself in that. When she danced, or taught dancing, everything else seemed far away and Elena was grateful for the reprieve.

On a stormy autumn day by the end of September, she and Pawel Komarek were sweating in the dancing studio. Although it was only mid-afternoon, the lights were on due to the sinister clouds darkening the sky. It was a precursor of winter and whenever Elena opened the windows to let steam out and fresh air in, she smelt a tinge of metallic cold thrown into the atmospheric mix.

“England at its best”, Komarek remarked, panting. His face was wet with perspiration, dark rings had formed under his armpits. “This country’s only ever happy if the weather’s wet and crappy.”

Elena giggled at the unintended rhyme. “You’re exaggerating”, she said simply.

“Am I?” Komarek straightened up. “Come to love this remote island, have you?”

“I guess”, she said with a shrug. “I mean, it’s a little quirky, but …”

“I may be exaggerating, but you are clearly understating.”

“Why are you here if you obviously like it so little?”

“I told you. Business.”

“What kind of business?” It only now occurred to Elena that she had never asked him.

“I’m a banker”, replied Komarek with his scallywag grin. “You know, one of those guys that everybody hates but still everybody needs to miraculously multiply their money. On the one hand, we’re henchmen to their greed, but the first to be dropped if anything goes wrong.”

She chuckled at that. “You poor guy …”

He raised both his hands. “No pity, please. Ever since you taught me the jive, I know where to shove my aggressions.”

“We still have to work on that spin …”

“Spinning three-sixty degrees with only one step – that’s bloody hard!”

“It’s really only two-seventy. But you’re right – it’s hard. I’m sure that you can do it, though.”

Again, he grinned and added a charming wink on top. “Because you’re an excellent teacher.”

He walked towards her, holding out his hand. For a fleeting moment, Elena thought that he might be doing something funny such as caressing her cheek or the like – even after weeks she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was particularly interested in her, that he might even take a chance if she let him – and she withdrew a little. However, he tilted his head teasingly.

“Don’t be afraid of old uncle Pawel”, he said with another one of his winks, “it’s just … your pendant fell out.”

Before she knew it, his fingers were around the golden hourglass that had slipped out of her blouse, no doubt during practicing the sharp jive spins. Her heart sped up with a jolt. Only two days ago, an the weekend, she had got the Time Turner back from Snape again, after extensive moaning and complaining about her workload. He had taken his sweet time with the decision – and Elena had had the impression that he had maliciously enjoyed hearing her pleading – but finally given it to her with the caution that it would only be for a few days, that he would collect it by the end of the week. After a torrent of admonitions, he had fixed her with his cold black eyes and said “And whatever you do, don’t let anyone see it!” – Well, too late now. Good thing the person who’d seen it was a consummate Muggle, worse still, a Muggle working in finance.

“That’s very pretty”, Komarek remarked seriously, inspecting the hourglass. “Like something not from this world …”

Her own fingers tightened around the golden chain and drew the pendant from his hand. “Touching a lady’s décolleté – is that what you do?”

“I didn’t touch it”, he said with a lopsided grin, “I was just admiring your pendant. No second thoughts.”

“Seen enough, have you?” Her words came out hoarsely.

He considered her thoughtfully. “Bit touchy today, are we?”

“It’s a present from my aunt”, Elena lied, looking him straight in the eyes. “It’s valuable and I’m a little concerned for it.”

“I see.” Again, he smiled at her broadly. “Wouldn’t wear it for dancing lessons then, if I were you. It might get caught somewhere. You might rip it off without noticing. That would be a pity, wouldn’t it?”

His bright eyes were watching her attentively. An uncomfortable feeling crept into Elena’s stomach. Why was he so concerned about the Time Turner? Had he noticed that something was off with it? Then, however, she told herself that it was in fact a very unusual piece of jewellery, one that would very likely attract attention. Maybe she shouldn’t wear it that openly anymore …

“Just warning you.” Komarek’s bright eyes twinkled. “By the way – how is your sweetheart?”

Now that was too much. Something flared inside her. “I don’t have a sweetheart!” she growled and Komarek retreated a step, putting up his hands in comic apprehension.

“Uh-oh, we _are_ touchy today! Please, forget I asked. Can I appease you with a meal at that horrible pizza place you like so much?”

In spite of herself, she had to smile. She must, at all costs, keep the magical and the ordinary world separate from each other. Of course, Komarek couldn’t know and wouldn’t understand the reason why she was so unbalanced. Granted, he was a little obtrusive at times, but then she also liked to have him around, as a comrade from the Continent. Why shouldn’t he ask straight out when he wanted to know something? Why shouldn’t he tease her like she was his friend when, after all, they were really getting on fine? He had no idea about the dark things on her mind …

So when Elena smiled at him, she made sure it was a gentle and reconciliatory smile. “Not today”, she explained, “you’ve already noticed that I’m tired and cranky. Next time?”

“Whenever you like”, he agreed, not showing any signs of offense or disappointment. “But now, could you show me that spin just once more …?”

 

* * *

 

That evening, with dark clouds still towering over Spinner’s End and slowly fading into the night sky, she went over to Snape’s house. Her strides were determined, just like her knock when she pounded on his front door. At first there was no answer, but Elena had expected that. Only on the third attempt did it open a fraction and she spotted the pair of huge eyes looking up at her.

“Hello, Gilly”, she said, trying to sound calm and friendly, “I’m sorry to bother you this late.”

“Master Snape is not here”, chirped the house-elf, eyeing her curiously.

“I know”, replied Elena, “I really wanted to talk to you.”

“To _Gilly_?” The small creature’s eyes became huge now. “Why would the Muggle girl want to talk to Gilly?”

“Because I know that you are loyal to your master and that you can be trusted.” Elena’s intuition told her that mollycoddling the elf for her loyalty and diligence would go a long way. “And after all, you know me, don’t you? I have been here often. I’m a friend of Professor Snape.”

“You are his _student_ ”, Gilly reminded her with a pointed look. Not so easily charmed, then. Elena sighed inwardly.

“Also, I’m not a Muggle”, she went on, realizing that she had to gain the house-elf’s respect somehow. “I’m a witch, and I think you know that very well.”

Still, however, Gilly didn’t budge and the front door remained open a mere fraction. “A Muggle-born witch”, she said with a slight sneer. “Gilly’s mistress say there’s no difference.”

Her mistress? Ah, that must be the formidable Mrs Snape.

“And what does your master say?” Elena asked.

The house-elf blinked uncomfortably. Elena had touched her weak spot, her uncertainly divided loyalty between two members of the family that she considered hers.

“It doesn’t really matter”, Elena went on quickly, “I was hoping that you would keep something for your master and give it to him when you see him.” Swiftly, she removed the Time Turner from around her neck and thrust her hand through the small gap of the front door. “It’s the Professor’s”, she claimed. “He lent it to me, but it is really his property. Please give it back to him when he comes home.”

Elena did this without qualms. Snape had told her a bit about house-elves and she was certain that Gilly could never withhold the Time Turner from him any more than she could steal something which belonged to him. The little creature eyed her suspiciously, but took the Time Turner.

“Why does the Muggle witch not give it to the master herself?”

Good question. Even if pressed, Elena couldn’t have said why it was so important for her to get rid of the Time Turner, why she couldn’t wait until the weekend to hand it back to Snape for safe keeping. After she had tried everything to get her hands on it during she last weeks, she now felt uncomfortable all of a sudden having it hanging around her neck. The way Komarek had looked at it today … how he had warned her against loosing it … Probably it was only her jumpiness, but she didn’t feel that the Time Turner was safe in her possession. Plus, with Snape at Hogwarts and her magical lessons confined to weekends, she didn’t need it so much anymore to organize her day. “Because it is safer with this family than with me”, Elena replied and tried to look humbled.

Immediately, Gilly got the upper hand. “Then it must be so”, she said haughtily. “Gilly will give the item to Master Snape. Master Snape is a great wizard. He is a descendant of the powerful Prince family. Any magical item is safe in his hands, safer than with a mere …” She broke of.

“… a mere Muggle witch with her magic all over the place”, Elena finished the sentence with only a touch of irony. “Honestly, I already feel much better.” She inclined her head. “Thank you, Gilly, I’m sure you serve the Prince family very well.”

“Gilly do her best”, the house-elf said with dignity, yet still gazing at Elena suspiciously.

“So I can rely on you giving it to your master?”

“Of course!” Now the wide eyes looked affronted.

“Alright, alright”, Elena hastened, taking a step back. “Thank you again. Good night.”

Greatly relieved, she hurried back to her house. For some reason, she felt as if a considerable weight had been lifted from her. Although she couldn’t explain it to herself, she was a bit calmer when she let herself into the hallway of Anna’s house …

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	23. The Hanged Girl

**The Hanged Girl**

 

Severus Snape sat at his office desk, grading first-year papers with the usual myriad of sighs. Dunderheads, most of them, the old batch just as bad as the new one. These were the moments when he regretted having come back to Hogwarts. What use was it trying to instil a profound understanding of magic into minds that weren’t really interested? He had almost forgotten these everyday frustrations of a teacher’s pursuit.

There was a small consolation, though. He did, in fact, enjoy teaching Defence Against The Dark Arts. It was a new challenge, nobody questioned his expertise and students were sufficiently awed; plus, after all these years of abysmal DADA teachers, he was pretty certain that he would be able to set new standards. And not all the first years had done so badly. After going through her paper again carefully, he was able to grade Laurie Paik’s with an ‘Exceeds Expectations’. Inadvertently, he breathed with relief. At least, there wouldn’t be any beef with McGonagall who had only yesterday warned him about treating the ‘Muggle Slytherin’ – as everyone at Hogwarts now called her – unfairly. In addition, Cassius Greengrass had earned an ‘Outstanding’, so nobody could rightly accuse him of favouring the Muggle girl above the pure-bloods.

His colleagues, however, had informed him that not all was going well on the Paik front. Horace Slughorn, specifically, had complained about her performance at Potions.

“You know how it is, Severus”, he had sighed at the last teacher’s meeting, “most of the Slytherins come here with at least _some_ sort of knowledge that they picked up in their families. I don’t have to tell them what wormwood is, or about the benefits of lacewing. They know. This girl, however … she’s holding up class!”

Severus hadn’t credited Slughorn’s comment with anything but a sneer. Even during his student days, he had thought of Slughorn – albeit respecting his knowledge on Potions – as a phony and an opportunist. Not much help was to be expected from him when it came to Laurie Paik as she held little interest for the old man.

Where Potions was concerned, Laurie Paik was Harry Potter all over again. Snape well remembered his own triumph when he’d left the boy stumped and confused in his first lesson. Even then he had reluctantly admitted to himself that the boy couldn’t, of course, know anything worthwhile, having grown up in a complete Muggle environment. Still, it had given Snape a very distinct pleasure to torment his worst enemy’s son with questions that he couldn’t possibly know the answer to. He felt differently about Laurie Paik, though, even if the only reason for it was that he had McGonagall breathing down his neck.

Things were difficult for Paik. He could easily observe just how difficult on a daily basis. No one of her housemates liked her, almost no one talked to her. Behind her back, they called her ‘Mai Lin’ because of the shape of her black eyes, ‘a disgrace’ even, and more than once Snape had overheard the inevitable malicious whisper, ‘Mudblood’. The word still gave him a jolt and made him feel ashamed. Whenever he caught someone using the word, he did not hesitate to give out ample punishment, which was, however, met with sneers and sinister looks.

His Slytherins had never been as difficult to control as this year. He felt their suspicion palpably, at times he could even detect hatred. None of them dared to stand up to him openly, but whereas earlier they had followed him blindly, even revered him, Snape had to come to terms with the fact that these days he received more respect from the students of other houses – Gryffindor, specifically – than his own. He still had a few supporters such as Flint and Greengrass, but even they had to be careful with what they said so as not to arouse the enmity of the rest of their house. How exactly he was to protect and help Laurie Paik in this general atmosphere he still hadn’t quite figured out.

He pushed the papers aside, pondering on what to do next. He still had his upcoming lesson with Elena to prepare and the prospect lightened up his mood. This time, he had a particular treat for her – Confounding jinxes – and he was sure that she would like them. As he had suspected, she had a thing for mind magic and although her attempts at Legilimency and Occlumency were still very feeble, it was a good way of preparing her for it. Imagining her looking at him attentively with those dark green eyes and that crease of concentration on her forehead made him smile without noticing, and a warm feeling spread from his stomach into all likely and unlikely directions and body regions.

His eyes swept over the two parchments he had recently received from her, one of them reading _Are you alright?_ and the other containing a comment on dog leashes. That she should worry about him, even think about him when he wasn’t around had softened him inside and he was a little chagrined that she had stopped writing him owls. Maybe his reply _had_ been a little harsh. He’d only wanted to put her at ease, but had managed to push her away again.

Without thinking, he ripped off a piece of parchment from a roll and scribbled hurriedly. _Any more visions recently? S.S._ He got up from the desk, left his office and quickly made towards the owlery where he chose a bird to carry the message.

After he’d sent it on its way, however, he started feeling stupid. He’d see her on the weekend. This owl would make him appear bloody eager, to the point of foolishness. He felt heat spreading in his face although there was no one around to witness it except for a few hooting birds. He swore a little. Where Elena was concerned, he acted irrationally. Of course, Snape knew very well why this was, but given his age, he should have known better.

With dark clouds around his forehead, he swept back towards his quarters in the dungeons when he felt a cold draught behind him and wheeled around. It was the Bloody Baron, hovering in the air and looking particularly scary. However, Snape was too used to the Slytherin house ghost to even frown.

“Baron”, he said, “anything to tell me?”

The Bloody Baron sighed, letting on that his ghostly life was particularly difficult these days. “It’s the Muggle girl”, he said in his very low and rumbling voice. “She’s in trouble.”

For a brief moment, Snape thought of Elena, but of course the Baron must be talking about Laurie Paik.

“What is it now?” he said with a groan.

“She’s down there”, replied the Baron mysteriously. “You know, in the … vaults.”

Snape knew immediately what he meant. The secret passageways installed by the Carrows, the ones he had so carefully sealed off. Inadvertently, his feet set themselves in motion and the Bloody Baron glided along beside him.

“How did she get in there?” Snape growled, getting out his wand.

“She didn’t”, explained the Baron, “she was left there.”

“By who?” asked Snape, puzzled.

The Baron shrugged. “You’re underestimating your sixth and seventh-year students”, he said darkly. “Didn’t you expect that their parents and relatives would let them in on a few secrets?”

Of course. He had been stupid in putting off dealing with those damn vaults.

“What did they do to her?” he asked while increasing his pace.

“I daresay she’s still alive”, said the Baron, not very conclusively. “This girl is a disturbance in our house, Professor. – But then, that is exactly what folks frequently say about _you_ these days.”

“Oh, really?” Snape closely scrutinized the ghost. “What folks?”

“Please, Professor. I _do_ have some sense of loyalty. In any case, I’m not a rat.”

Snape knew better than to pursue the subject any further. The Baron couldn’t change his bloody spots. However, he seemed willing to help and lead the way. In that fashion, they arrived at the vaults where Snape in fact found his sealing charm to be broken. Cunning bastards! How had they done it? The incantation he used for the seal was complex and breaking it required quite a bit of arithmantical calculations, and he didn’t exactly have his students down as all too talented logical thinkers.

From afar, he heard loud singing. It was a high-pitched girl’s voice and the singing reminded him of a child that had been sent down to the cellars on its own and tried to remain calm by whistling loudly. “ _The roof, the roof, the roof is on fire … we don’t need no water, let the motherfucker burn …_ ” Snape twitched uncomfortably when he heard this, remembering Elena’s vision.

He found Laurie Paik deep into one of the passageways, her small petite figure hanging from the low and damp ceiling by the ankle. Her face was blood-red, her hair and arms dangling awkwardly. A locked _Levicorpus_ , he realized right away. How long had she been hanging there?

Snape raised his wand, muttered “ _Liberacorpus_ ” and the Paik girl fell to her feet like a sack of potatoes. She remained crouched on the ground for a while before she got up, painfully stretching her limbs.

“It was about time”, she muttered darkly.

“How did you get up there?” he challenged her.

Laurie Paik looked up at him mutinously, her dark eyes glittering. “How do you _think_?”

He considered her. She was visibly shaken, but determined not to let it on. He had noticed this stroppy attitude of hers before, as if she was determined not to let anyone scare her or get the better of her. Snape remembered her ‘precarious background’, as McGonagall called it. Probably, she was used to fighting and looking after herself. Just as well, this attitude would certainly do her a good service as a Muggle-born in Slytherin …

“Tell me who hung you up there”, he tried again, a fraction gentler this time.

“Yeah, fine!” she spat. “Make me rat on my housemates so they’ll hate me even more!” Her anger hit him like a hot wave. She was projecting it onto him since the ones who had injured her were not around. In spite of himself, he was a little impressed by such a small girl acting in such a bolshy manner.

Snape sighed, then he grabbed the Muggle Slytherin by the neck of her robes and dragged her along with him out of the dungeons. Her protest was fierce, she hissed like a viper. When they were back on safe ground, Snape sealed off the passageway once again – not really hoping that it couldn’t be opened at any time, but hopefully it would take a while – and then marched Laurie Paik to his office, careful that no one saw them when they hurried along the corridors.

“Sit”, he ordered once he had closed the office door behind him and indicated the chair in front of his desk.

The girl complied, though glowering at him. “I didn’t do anything”, she claimed. No doubt she had heard that being invited to Snape’s office was usually the precursor to detention. Her voice was hoarse and Snape sensed that she was trying bravely not to cry.

“I know”, he said coolly, taking a seat opposite her, “I expect it would be far beyond your capacities to hang yourself up by the ankle like that.”

“Yes, I know, I suck at everything”, the girl swore, “I’m a fucking disgrace for this house, and I will never amount to anything ‘cause I’m nothing but a filthy little _Mudblood_ …” Instead of crying, she’d opted for ranting.

“Stop with the self-pity”, Snape commanded, but inwardly he winced. “It won’t get you anywhere.”

“Don’t talk as if you care”, the girl hissed.

She wasn’t afraid of him, or at least she tried very hard not to let on that she was. Snape remembered that she probably knew nothing about him except for a few stories she might have been told since her arrival at Hogwarts, which must seem like legends to her. Snape thought of Elena and the idea came up in his mind that the Paik girl’s ignorance might be an advantage.

“Tell me who did this to you”, he tried for the third time.

Now she blew a fuse. “What good would that do me?” she shouted. “You’d punish them and then they’d know that I told you! They’d make my life hell! Even more so than they already do …”

“Calm yourself!” he thundered and with a certain degree of satisfaction, he saw her flinch and shut her mouth. “Trust me”, he said, quietly now, “I know how to deal with the situation. No one will be punished – at least not for now. I merely wish to know the perpetrators.”

A mocking smile appeared on her face. “If you’re so clever you should already know.”

“I know they were your housemates”, he growled, “but I need to know names. Specifically, I need to know how you got _down there_!”

Although he found that he liked her recalcitrance – which reminded him of himself at that age – he was astonished and a little miffed when she rolled her eyes. “Obviously, you don’t know as much as you think.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that they _all_ know about the vaults down there!” Laurie Paik hissed. “I heard them whisper about it ever since the start of school. And that _you_ are a bloody tosser not to have any idea …”

“Shut up!” he roared.

Again, the girl flinched and looked meek for about three seconds. “I was only quoting”, she said in a small voice.

Snape got up from his desk and gave himself over to his new hobby, pacing. He was thinking hard on how to handle this situation.

“So what you’re saying is that there is some kind of conspiracy going on behind my back?” he asked after a while, piercing her with his eyes.

“I’m not saying anything”, the girl replied stubbornly.

Snape rolled his eyes. “Alright. Let me say it for you, then, and you only need to answer either Yes or No.”

She considered this longer than he thought was necessary, then gave a quick nod.

“So I’m guessing”, Snape went on, “that a few of your housemates – sixth and seventh years, I should think – have figured out a way of getting into the passageways. Arcadius Selwyn, maybe? Marvin Goyle?”

Another nod.

“And they think that my … comeuppance is close at hand?”

“Comeuppance?” she snorted. “They _hate_ you!”

Severus hadn’t expected anything lighter, but still the words made him frown. “Go on”, he said quietly.

“They say you’re a traitor, that you’re a menace and a disgrace to this house”, Laurie Paik explained, and while she was talking, the words suddenly tumbled over one another. She was, after all, a scared child eager to talk. “They also say that it’s the Muggle in you. That your blood is tainted and that you’ve never been a true Slytherin, that you only acted as if you were. They influence the students in the lower years, too, saying that they shouldn’t believe you, that they shouldn’t trust you, that you will betray us all. – And yes, they also say that you are in for a big surprise and that you will suffer from it.” She scrutinized Snape with a calculating look, as if to find out how much he could take. “Plus, they think you’re getting old. With the beard, and all that …”

Again, he winced. Getting old? He was surprised at how that smarted.

“How do you know all this?” he asked.

“Overheard it”, she replied with a shrug.

“Meaning you’re eavesdropping?”

“No! Most of the time, I’m hiding in some place or other. So they can’t harass me. I find holes for myself where I can study in peace. There’s a hidden flap in the Slytherin common room, I often sit in there. And then I hear them talk …”

A spy already. Snape inclined his head, hiding a slight amusement. Maybe there _was_ a reason why she had been sorted into Slytherin.

“But you don’t know exactly what is going on?” he asked.

Laurie Paik shook her head.

“Only that I’m … in for a surprise?”

She nodded.

Snape returned to his desk, sat down and fixed Laurie with a stare. “If I promise not to tell about your ratting …”

“I didn’t rat!”

“Alright, calm down. If I promise not to mention how I found you today … and about our little talk … will you try to find out more for me?”

Her face went blank. For several seconds, she gaped at him, seeming uncertain of herself.

“Can I ask a question, sir?” she whispered, unusually careful. It was the first time she had addressed him formally.

“Go ahead.”

“Are you a good person or a bad one?”

He scoffed. “What do you think?”

Now she was the one to tilt her head. “I dunno”, she said. “My housemates say … well, I just told you what they say. – Cindy Hollis from Ravenclaw, however, she says you’re a hero. I’m friendly with her, you see. She says that without you, Harry Potter could never have defeated that You-Know-Who.”

Snape nodded. It made sense that she would seek her friends in other houses. After all, they were the only ones that would talk to her.

“Then there’s those who say you’re a kind of shape-shifter”, Laurie Paik went on.

“Ah, yes?”

“Yes. A flag in the wind, taking whichever direction serves you best.”

Now that was the limit! Again he rose from his seat, started pacing and growling under his breath. Most of all, he was miffed that the opinions of others – mere students at that! – should bother him so.

The Paik girl watched him, her eyes wide. Suddenly, she tried for an unlikely smile. “Well, I guess you’re not so bad …”, she whispered. “After all, you helped me today …”

A scalding comment was on the tip of Snape’s tongue, but he swallowed it. He didn’t know how to deal with the situation, but then he had an idea. He went over to one of the many rows of books and took out a pristine copy of _Elementary Potions_ which he had really bought for Elena, hoping that it would raise her interest in the subject since it took a very different approach which was probably more suitable for Muggles. However, he decided that the Muggle girl in front of him needed it more and handed it to her.

“You have to improve on your performance”, he explained. “On all fronts, but specifically on Potions. It is the only way to gain your housemate’s respect …”

“I don’t care about their bloody respect!” she started up again. “I don’t want to …”

“You have to!” he broke in savagely. “Believe me, I know. It’s the only way they will stop harassing you – if they see that you can do things and that you can help yourself. As long as they see the feeble ignorant Muggle in you, you won’t get happy here at Hogwarts and specifically not in Slytherin!”

She didn’t reply, merely gaped at him.

“You’re not bad”, he admitted, although it cost him some effort. “I’ve given you a good grade on your DADA essay, but that’s not enough. You have to study, make up for your disadvantage. Soldier on.”

“Alright …”, she mumbled dispiritedly. In that moment, she looked like the lost small girl she was. Only now did it occur to Snape that otherwise she didn’t act her age at all, that she seemed much older, more mature. The ‘precarious background’, probably. He knew very well that such circumstances made children grow up before their time.

“Don’t tell anyone I gave this to you”, Snape warned her, pointing to the Potions book. “You’re not stupid, so you can imagine why I’m telling you this.”

She awarded him a nod and another tentative smile.

“You will also be able to imagine what I want in return”, Snape went on.

“You want me to spy for you”, Laurie Paik said quietly. “Like you did.”

He sighed, then said “Yes.” After a moment, he added, “Most of all, I want you to keep your head down. I can’t be around all the time to protect you or to get you out of tight spots. – If you need help, turn to the Bloody Baron.”

“Yuck!” the girl breathed.

“He alerted me to your plight today”, Snape explained. “I guess he likes you, though he won’t admit it.”

“Of course he won’t”, Laurie said darkly. “He’s a Slytherin, after all …”

“As are you, like it or not”, Snape reminded her, then made a gesture that prompted her to get up from her chair. “It’s late. You’ve got to get back to your common room.”

Laurie Paik complied and with a dejected look she went towards the door.

“Not out of there”, Snape commanded and went to the other end of the office, opening a hidden door in the wall. “It wouldn’t do if anyone saw you coming out of my office. They’d know right away that you told me. Take this passage. It’s a long walk, but it will take you back to the Great Hall, and from there you can proceed to the common room. – Did you learn how to cast a _Lumos_ yet?”

“Sure”, she said, almost bored, and whipped out her wand to demonstrate that she had.

“Well then, out with you.”

A few seconds later, he was alone in his office again, surrounded by suspicions and dark thoughts. How much the tables had turned for him! In earlier years, the respect of support of his Slytherin students had been the only thing he’d been able to rely on. Now he was Head of House to his haters, seeking alliance in the most unlikely places, recruiting an eleven-year-old Muggle-born as his spy while the next best thing he had to a friend was another Muggle-born witch with still very shaky powers. What an irony. It occurred to him how much Lily would have liked that twist. Before his inner eye, he imagined her sitting with Albus Dumbledore in that elusive realm beyond where the dead souls went – and which he had only skirted – drinking tea and laughing their heads off.

However, the evening had been elucidating because it had given him a new idea regarding the threats that had been made against him. Maybe the source of the bloodied parchments was much closer to home than he had thought. If somebody wanted to get to him – how unlikely was it that this person had recruited the help of ex Death Eaters or families with an ideological closeness to the pure-blood idea and a grudge on him for his supposed betrayal? Not unlikely at all, he had to admit.

Arcadius Selwyn and Marvin Goyle. Burly, loud-mouthed seventh years with a penchant for brutality. He’d have to have a closer look at them and the posse of Slytherins they hung out with. They both came from pure-blood families, members of which had been sent to jail, including Arcadius Selwyn’s father. What did they know about the secret passageways the Carrows had installed? What were they planning behind his back? More importantly, should he share his suspicions with anyone, McGonagall maybe, or Remus Lupin?

However, Severus Snape decided against the latter. He had to play this coolly and subtly, start his own investigation. There was no denying that something was up. When he thought of what the Paik girl had told him, about the way they were talking of him, he felt the bile rise in his throat. The Muggle in him, indeed! The cheek of it! On top of it, they told everyone that he was getting old, loosing his touch!

Impulsively he rose, left his office and went back to his private quarters. He entered the bathroom and confronted his face, with as little pleasure as ever. After darkly gazing at himself for several minutes, he took out his wand and performed a Shaving spell. The wiry black hair, interspersed with grey, sprinkled the basin and when he looked up, clean-shaven now, he recognized himself again. He realized that he had wanted to escape, that he had tried to be someone else. Not anymore. Slytherin had its Head of House back and as much as they might hate it, they would have to deal with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	24. Witch Suspicious

**Witch Suspicious**

 

The man was dark, very tall, broad-shouldered and he stared at her. In fact, his stare was the first thing that alerted Elena to his presence. It was an itch at the back of her neck, as if of an insect crawling there. As soon as she figured out the source, she stared back at him, glum and insecure, wondering why a complete stranger would look at her like that.

It was the middle of the day and she was standing in a small boutique off Diagon Alley. Her Apparition class had ended almost an hour ago and the idea of taking a stroll on the busy wizarding shopping street had been obvious as it was so close. Plus, Eddie Hincks who had recently taken to relieving Remus Lupin in the duty of Apparating her to and from the Ministry had shown her a dingy shop that – albeit probably not quite legally – exchanged Muggle money into Galleons and Sickles. Now she was in witches’ shopping heaven.

The man who was standing by the entrance refusing to take his eyes off her had a neatly trimmed black beard and was dressed very formally in well-tailored robes with an elaborate necktie and a pointed hat. Elena estimated him to be in his late forties and there was something very respectable about him, from the pronounced pouch of his belly to the well-groomed hair and fingernails. One could imagine him as the patriarch of a large family or in some kind of official position, hadn’t it been for the decidedly dirty look he bestowed on her. Elena willed herself to hold his gaze. The fact that there was something vaguely familiar about him encouraged her not to look away. Then, a sudden idea hit her. ‘Maybe it’s _him_.’

The perpetrator. The author of the blood parchments. The hairs on her body stood on edge. Yet, she wasn’t prepared to look away and stared back, now even more so.

Suddenly, a wave of hatred swept over her. It was like stepping out of an air-conditioned building into moist subtropical heat. The hatred wasn’t hers, though, it came from him. A stream of emotions hit Elena, but they were not her own feelings. _Mudblood … filthy whore … Snape’s plaything …_

“What the _fuck_??” she whispered, gathered all her courage and took a step towards him.

“Elena?”

She wheeled around.

It was Eddie, fresh-faced and eager, his handsome face smiling stupidly. He held a piece of clothing in his hands, which he offered to her. “Turns out they have it in your size, after all”, he said enthusiastically, sure that he was doing her a service. She thought about how much easier it all would be if she fancied him. But no.

“Oh, great”, she murmured.

Eddie picked up on her confusion. “What’s wrong?”

She turned towards the entrance, but the sinister figure had gone. She could see the back of the man out on the street, walking away from the shop at a swift pace.

“Did you see that guy?”

“Yeah”, Eddie said with a shrug, “what about him?”

“He stared at me. For two solid minutes at least. It was like … he _hated_ me.”

Eddie gazed out of the shop window at the retreating stately figure. “Some pure-blood arsehole, probably”, he said with a shrug.

“But why did he stare at me like that? I don’t want to be dramatic, but he scared me!”

“Aaah”, Eddie breathed, “don’t take this the wrong way, but you really look like a Muggle _a lot_. – Not that I mind”, he gave her an intense look, “but I’m afraid some people in our cosy little microcosm still do …”

“You think he looked at me that way because he figured out I’m a Muggle-born and he didn’t approve of my presence?” Elena asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Happens all the time”, replied Eddie. “You-Know-Who may be gone, but the blood-supremacist idea is not. Some will never learn. If I were you, I wouldn’t pay it any mind.”

Elena hesitated. Should she tell Eddie any more? What she had felt, of that wave of hatred that had come towards her? It had been as if she had heard the man’s thoughts, and then again not at all because thanks to her exercises with Snape she knew a little about how Legilimency felt. This had been more as if she had participated in the man’s feelings through a heightened sense of empathy.

“Won’t you try that on?” Eddie asked, offering up the garment once more and clearly attempting to change her mood. “I bet it would look really cool on you. And witchy, too.”

It was a 1930s-style dress that would pass as ‘vintage’ in the Muggle world and look elegant in this. It was also the kind of dress that would make an average woman squeal, and so Elena smiled at Eddie, took the dress and made for the changing room. She wasn’t quite able to forget the sinister-looking man, though.

 

A little later and with a packed bag dangling from her arm, she was strolling through the streets with Eddie. The day was cloudy, but at least the incessant rain of the last weeks had stopped. Diagon Alley was packed with people, the shop windows were already decorated for Halloween – the most important holiday in the wizarding world, as Elena had learnt – although it was still almost two weeks off.

“How’s Apparition going?” Eddie asked.

“I suck at it”, Elena replied darkly.

“Oh, come on, it can’t be that bad!”

“Believe me. Transportation’s not my thing. Recently, the Professor let me try to ride his broom and I fell off. We stopped the experiment …” With a wince, she rubbed the small of her back, remembering the pain of the fall.

“I’d teach you”, Eddie offered.

However, Elena shook her head. “I’d rather concentrate on Apparition. It reminds me of learning how to drive a car. I sucked at that, too, took me ages to learn …”

“You can drive a _car_?” Eddie said incredulously.

“Sure. – Can’t you?”

He shook his head, a little awed. “I ride a mean broom, though … so if you ever change your mind …”

She rewarded him with a smile, although it was fleeting. The sinister man from the shop was still on her mind. Eddie studied her profile with a look of concentration.

“I wouldn’t beat myself up if I were you”, he tried to cheer her up, “considering that you’ve only been a witch for a few months, you’re doing fine. That Engorging spell you do …” He was right. Considering all the items in her bag, it looked small and modest. “With magic, it’s like with everything else. Some things you can do right away, others take a while …”

“Or a long while”, Elena sighed.

“You mustn’t be so impatient with yourself. In a few years’ time you’ll be really good.”

“I guess I have a good teacher.”

Eddie fell silent. He looked as if he was figuring out how to say what he wanted to say next. “How are you getting on with Snape?”

“Alright. It’s not like going to the circus, but …”

“You don’t have to let him teach you, you know. There are other ways. The Ministry provides courses for, well, ‘late wizards’. I can find out all about it if you want me to.”

Elena looked up at him curiously. “Why are you telling me that?”

Eddie’s mouth twitched uncertainly. “Well, to be perfectly honest with you … it’s a running gag at the Ministry that Snape keeps you under some kind of _Imperio_ to make you his …”

“… plaything?” The word came out like a shot. She had perceived it from the sinister man in the boutique.

Eddie blushed.

“I didn’t mean _that_ …”

“He doesn’t _Imperio_ me”, Elena explained with a sour note in her voice. “No one believes me when I say that I’m getting on fine with Snape, but I guess I do. Considering that he’s … well, Severus Snape.”

“It _is_ a little hard to imagine for everyone who’s been at Hogwarts and had him as a teacher. I told my friends about you and now they always refer to you as ‘that poor girl’ …”

She laughed a little. “It can’t have been _that_ bad!”

“Believe me. Back at Hogwarts, we would all rather have spent an entire night in the Forbidden Forest than attend one Potions lesson with Snape. Gigantic spiders are a waltz compared to him …”

Elena frowned, but said nothing.

“My cousin Marielle just started at Hogwarts”, Eddie prattled on happily. “Snape teaches her in Defence Against the Dark Arts. She’s scared of him.”

“Well, he _is_ a little scary …”

“Obviously, there is quite a sensation going on”, Eddie said lightly. “You see, there’s a Muggle-born who’s been sorted into Slytherin.”

“So?”

“A Muggle-born being sorted into Slytherin is extremely rare!” Eddie explained. “It’s the house of the pure-bloods and they’re proud of it. Even half-bloods don’t occur there all that often. This girl has a hard time, nobody in her House talks to her and they play nasty tricks on her. My cousin writes that Snape doesn’t even lift a finger to help …”

Elena looked at him hard. “Really?”

“That’s what Marielle says.”

The crease over her nose deepened. It wasn’t the first time that she’d heard the story of Snape the bully. She didn’t like it much, but at the same time it was entirely conceivable. He could be cold and foul-tempered, but she didn’t like to think that he was also malicious and cruel. The thought hurt her a little.

“He never wanted to be a teacher”, she offered by way of a weak excuse. “He was told to.”

“Then why doesn’t he stop now?” asked Eddie and there was a hard expression in his eyes. “There’s no reason anymore to go on tormenting students.”

“Probably because he is too old to try something new.”

“That he is”, Eddie agreed matter-of-factly, “thirty-eight.”

She gazed at him in surprise. “How do you know?”

Eddie shrugged. “I work with the Ministry, remember? I read his records. That’s one bloody long roll of parchment, I can tell you …”

“Why, you must be the most diligent employee in the whole Ministry”, Elena said acidly which shut Eddie up. At the back of her mind, however, she made a quick calculation. ‘Fourteen years …’

They walked on and the atmosphere between them was a little uneasy. Elena felt the wheels and gears turning in Eddie’s head, trying to come up with a different topic of conversation. “Are you still going to Muggle university?” he finally asked and managed to sound interested.

“Sure. Would be stupid to stop after I got so far.”

“So you’re going for a degree? You think it’s still worth it?”

Elena shrugged. “I guess I have to. I’m not sure I have a future in the wizarding world. Started way too late, I guess.”

“Sure you have a future!” Eddie objected fervently. “It’s not so difficult to find your niche in our world as it is in the Muggle world because we’re a much smaller community. You could do all sorts of things.”

“Such as? Teach at a wizarding dancing school? Write books to help witches and wizards to better understand Muggles?”

“That’s quite the fashion now”, Eddie nodded, “also, the Ministry employs witches and wizards that blend into the Muggle world well. To observe and watch out, for instance detect witch children in Muggle families.”

Elena smiled slightly. “I like the idea of living in both worlds. I don’t think I could give up the old one, but the new one is too interesting to stay out of … You know what I’d really like to be?”

“Yeah?”

“The friendly witch in the neighbourhood. The one who’s living in a crooked house with her knitting and a lot of cats and does the occasional and clandestine good secret service to her lost and confused Muggle neighbours.”

Eddie laughed. “Nice thought. But I doubt there’s any money in it …”

She grinned, finally cheering up. By now, she was leading the way since she wanted to go to the bookshop where Snape had taken her on that first trip to Diagon Alley. Eddie didn’t know it, but claimed that books were ‘his life’ – a statement Elena didn’t entirely believe, but at least he seemed willing enough to come along. During the short walk, he regaled her with stories from the Ministry – catching dark wizards, helping people to rebuild their lives and all that. He liked his job and felt that he was doing something useful. He specifically liked Harry Potter whom he described as ‘a great guy’.

Cheerfully, they turned into Paracelsus Street and Elena went straight to the bookshop, drawing open the door while the bell gave off a loud jingle.

“Wait for it”, she said to Eddie, “they’ve got the most amazing section on magical philosophy.”

“Great.” Eddie’s smile seemed a little forced.

Elena swept into the shop and promptly ran into someone.

“Oops, sorry”, she whooped, staring at the front of black robes, buttoned high and topped off by a familiar-looking scarf.

Her heart lurched when she looked up and stared into a pair of very black eyes. “Oh!”

“Elena”, he said monotonously and not in a very spirited way, either. It was obvious that he was just as surprised as she. In her inner turmoil, Elena almost overheard that he had not called her ‘Ms Horwath’ as he usually did.

“What are you doing here?” Elena pressed forth. Sure enough, it was the mother lode of stupid questions. Meeting him here when she had only just thought of him and on top of that, his beard was gone and she had to digest his clean-shaven face.

“Buying books”, he said with a sarcastic cock of his heavy black brows. Then his eyes wandered from her face over her shoulder. Elena could see him stiffen.

“Mr Hincks”, he acknowledged Eddie’s presence. Snape hardly ever said ‘Good day’, certainly not ‘Nice to see you’ or even ‘How do you do?’ Showing that he did remember the name seemed to be enough politeness in his book.

“How d’you do, Professor”, Eddie replied smoothly with a purr in his voice. Elena felt him move close to her back and she fidgeted while Snape’s eyes found their way back to hers.

“You were at my house”, he said silkily and with a question in his eyes.

“Yes”, she admitted and felt her cheeks flush, “I’ll tell you why on the weekend.”

“I’m curious”, Snape eyed Eddie critically and went on, “but I must not keep you. I’m sure you’re busy …”

“Um …”, murmured Elena.

“Just showing her the bright sides of Diagon Alley”, Eddie chimed in. Elena could have hit him.

“I’m sure you’re the right person for that”, Snape remarked coolly. Again, he looked at Elena. “Enjoy the bright sides, then. – See you on the weekend.” And with that he swept past her as if she was no more than a fleeting acquaintance.

Elena felt her pulse in her throat while she stood uncertainly in the door of the bookshop with Eddie trying to push her in. Suddenly, she shook him off brusquely.

“Professor!” she cried and hurried after Snape.

He stopped and turned around reluctantly.

“I need to tell you this _now_ ”, she blurted out, “I had this totally strange encounter today and I only just remembered where I saw the guy before … I mean, I remembered when I saw _you_ because the first time I saw him, it was with you …”

“What encounter?” Snape asked a little irritably. “What are you on about?”

“This man … he stared at me in a shop …”

“A man stared at you in a shop”, Snape repeated and the way he said it, Elena had to admit that it sounded very stupid. “I don’t want to upset you”, he went on ironically, “but there’s a boy over there staring at you.”

Elena looked over her shoulder at Eddie who was standing in the door of _The Philosopher’s Stone_ , looking forlorn. She made a vague gesture with her hand.

“This man … he _hated_ me!” she explained. “I thought that it might be _him_ … you know …”

“How do you know that he hated you?”

“I felt it! I felt it like his feelings were my own. He thought I was a … a _filthy whore_ … a … _Mudblood_ …”

“You don’t want say that!” Snape hissed.

“But it referred to me!” She stared at him beseechingly. “What does _Mudblood_ mean?”

He winced. “It is … a word pure-bloods use for Muggles. Not a nice one.” He looked at her and his gaze was intense. “You said you remembered who he was?”

“I don’t know his name”, Elena explained, “but we ran into him, you and me, when you first took me to Diagon Alley. I’ve only just remembered. He lifted his hat when he saw you, calling you ‘Professor’. I asked you why he did that, in the bookshop, remember?”

For a few seconds, there was no noticeable change in Snape’s face but then he was the master of not letting anything on. “Claudius Selwyn”, he said suddenly, the corners of his mouth tightening.

“Tall, burly, black beard, very groomed …”

Snape nodded curtly. “His brother was one of my … he’s in jail now.”

She understood. “D’you think that he might be … the one?”

Snape’s face remained impassive as ever, but still Elena thought that she felt something stir in him.

“We’ll talk about it on the weekend”, he said quietly. Once more, his eyes wandered over her shoulder. “Go over to the bright side now.”

Elena wanted to say that the bright side didn’t matter to her, that she didn’t care about Eddie beyond the mere fact that he was an immensely nice guy – and wasn’t ‘nice guy’ the worst thing you could say about anyone? – that she preferred five minutes of dark Snape scowls to an hour of stupid Hincks grins, but of course she couldn’t say it, wouldn’t say it.

“Alright”, she whispered instead. “See you on the weekend.”

Snape nodded, turned on his heel and away he went, not looking back even once. He had an undisputable talent for sweeping exits.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	25. The Politician

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Remus-centric chapter ...

**The Politician**

 

At about the same time, Remus Lupin, too, was visiting Diagon Alley. However, he knew nothing of either Elena’s, Eddie’s or Snape’s closeness and wouldn’t have wanted to run into any of them. Instead, he cherished some maudlin alone-time in the _Leaky Cauldron_ , in the company of a tank of beer. He had always liked the place, the quiet familiarity during the day, the raucous business at night. Also, it was the place where he had first taken Tonks.

He remembered the occasion well. It had been after an Order meeting at Grimmauld Place, and since Sirius had been obliged to lay low at the time, Remus had considered it his duty as his closest living friend to take out that young cousin of his. He had thought nothing of it, certainly never entertained the idea that she might like him. Remus knew very well that he wasn’t the type that women usually preferred. However, she had let him know. The stunned surprise about that had opened his eyes to her beauty – which, like the kind of beauty he liked best, wasn’t obviously parading itself, but came in through the back door with a mischievous smile – and by the end of the evening he had been ready to name their future children. Everything else had taken an intense and rapid course from there, as if they had intuitively known that the time window allotted to them was only very small.

Now, when Remus thought back to those mad one-and-a-half years with her, the war was hardly ever part of his memories, except in the form of a constant underlying worry which even highlighted the comfort and relief he had found in the relationship. The images that came to his mind were of her smiles, her naked body, her whispers into his ear, her gazing into his eyes without interruption during nightly discussions. It had been passionate and breath-taking, and this was why her loss had left him so utterly empty. Though not that gaping-into-a-hole kind of empty that he always suspected was part of Severus Snape’s inner make-up, but the kind that burned like hell and kept him up at night. It had been suggested to him that he should look forward, try to find a new woman, even. However, that was inconceivable to him. Although, paradoxically, he found it much easier these days to talk to women and enjoy their company, he suspected that the reason for this was really indifference. Only Tonks would have alleviated it. Only with her could he imagine true happiness.

There was, of course, Teddy. He tied his worn-out father to this world. However, as much as he loved his son, sometimes Remus did not know whether this was good or bad.

The hour in the _Leaky Cauldron_ was a time-out from worry. The tank of beer gave him a piece of reality that was a little softer and blurrier, though not excessively so, enabling him to stay on top of things. Yet, it was an escapism and he hated to be interrupted in it.

No such luck, though. Tom, the barkeeper, leant over the polished counter. “Thought I’d let you know that Eusebius Marlin just came in”, he murmured in a confidential voice.

“Oh, drat …”, Remus sighed.

“You might be lucky ‘cause he’s got company. – Ah, no, sorry. He’s spotted you …”

Quickly, Lupin gulped down the rest of the beer, indicating to anyone who might accost him that he was getting ready to leave. However, Marlin’s insensibility could be relied on. The next thing Remus felt was a hard slap on his back and he coughed up half a mouthful of beer.

“Heck, Lupin, I’m so sorry!” Marlin chimed out happily while the other man was still catching his breath. “Fancy meeting you here …”

“I was just leaving”, Remus wheezed.

However, Marlin glowed like a Christmas tree, cheeks even redder than his hair. “You _must_ meet my dear friends, Mr and Mrs Crowley …”

Only now did Remus realize that Marlin had company. It was a very handsome couple, the man about sixty, the woman quite a bit younger, and at first glance they looked like people one would indeed like to meet. They were dressed both formally and dashingly, he in an old-fashioned suit with a waistcoat and a watch chain draped importantly above his belly, she in a long pencil skirt and shiny dark-red boots, her head full of black curls nestling in the wide collar of a well-tailored fur coat. They exuded sophistication and money. Remus only just kept his ready reply to Marlin – ‘I must _nothing_ these days’ – from slipping out.

Marlin was prattling on and turned a lively face to his friends. “Have you met Mr Lupin? He is working with the Ministry, in RRR, and he was a member of the Order of the Phoenix and on the frontlines during the war …”

“We have certainly heard of you, Mr Lupin”, the stately man introduced as Mr Crowley droned out. He had quite an impressive voice, pleasant and compelling at the same time, and a quirk of his eyebrow let on that he didn’t think too much of Marlin’s verbal effusions, either. “Aeneas Crowley, I’m very pleased to meet you.” He stretched out his hand after removing a black dragon-hide glove. The shake was firm and implied sincerity. “May I present my wife, Magrathea Crowley”, the man went on and bowed a little to his beautiful partner.

“The pleasure is mine”, Remus hastened to say, and he nodded at the woman. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

Mrs Crowley was certainly as formidable as her first name and looked at him with a pair of stunningly large blue eyes. Her mouth was full and painted dark-red. “Likewise, Mr Lupin”, she purred in a husky voice, “and let me say how very sorry we are for your loss. Of course, we read about it in the papers. Such a shame for your little boy to loose his mother so young.”

Remus bowed his head – the charisma of the woman was so strong that you found yourself inevitably doing that – and said a quiet “Thank you”. There was nothing else to say. Most of the time, the platitudes came with the best of intentions, although their contents hardly reached him.

A benign pause ensued, before Marlin couldn’t hold his breath anymore.

“Aeneas has just been appointed member of the Ministerial Council”, he blurted out, beaming.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“He has Kingsley’s full approval, he told me so himself. And rightly so, I might add, after all that Mr Crowley has done for our community!”

“Oh, please.” Aeneas Crowley raised his hands and Remus could see him roll his eyes a little, though he doubted that Marlin noticed it. “Of course, one helps in times like these. This should have nothing to do with Mr Shacklebolt entrusting me with the position of Councillor.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t”, Remus said politely. “I know Mr Shacklebolt as a wise man with a sound basis for his opinions and decisions.”

“He is also a very _nice_ man!” Magrathea Crowley piped up. Remus wasn’t sure whether it was just him, but somehow the word ‘nice’ had a peculiar ring to it.

“And certainly a most able man”, added Aeneas Crowley, holding Lupin’s gaze. Like Elena, he was one for eye contact, but rather than searching, his way of looking at people was tethering and controlling.

“I’m sure he did the right thing by giving the post to Mr Crowley”, Marlin continued his glowing introduction. “He will blow fresh wind into our sails. Make sure that reconstruction will begin in earnest …”

“The way I see it”, Crowley said with a good-natured twinkle in his eyes, “we in the magical community have been dawdling a little. Celebrations, and all that. Well understood, well deserved, no doubt. But now it’s time to start sweeping up the rubble. That is, of course, mostly a matter of capital …”

“Mr Crowley is a very successful business man”, Marlin rang out.

Remus watched Aeneas Crowley carefully. A wealthy business man turned bored, a bored man turned politician? Something told him that this was the last thing the magical community needed at this point. However, the man was certainly personable. A handsome face with deep vertical lines, engaging light-grey eyes and an open smile. He would be liked. From experience, Remus knew that this could be the most dangerous kind.

The man with the well-trimmed silver beard inclined his head modestly. “I am new to a ministerial career and shall have to learn a lot.”

“He’s a fast learner”, Mrs Crowley said cheerfully.

“Let me buy us a round”, Aeneas Crowley offered before silence could ensue, and already he was on his way to the bar.

Marlin edged closer to Remus, like an over-active sniffer dog. “The Crowleys are my neighbours in Surrey. I have known them for years.”

“Don’t remind me just how many years, Eubie”, the Crowley woman chirped with a lady-like wave of the hand, “it reminds me of how old I’m getting …”

“Oh, my dear, surely you can’t mean that, you are looking as fantastic as ever …”

“Oww, isn’t he a sweetheart?”

Remus smirked.

“Mrs Crowley is a very charitable woman”, Marlin eagerly explained to Lupin, “she has set up a fund with her father – who is actually none other than Barnabas Cuffe – to house orphans from the war in an adorable little chalet in the countryside – and she organizes fundraisers for rebuilding destroyed homes of wizarding families. Official buildings, too! The Elven Ballet, for instance …”

“I didn’t know that had been destroyed?” Remus interjected quickly.

“No, but it needed new paint”, said Magrathea Crowley with a dazzling smile, “and some modernisation. In times like these, Mr Lupin, people are so hungry for diversion. You have to provide them with a break every now and then.”

“That’s the Magrathea Crowley I know”, Marlin said with something almost resembling pride, “ever-concerned for her kind …”

“It’s not easy to be a witch or wizard in this day and age, Eubie …”

‘What a wise-crack face she has’, thought Lupin. At first, he hadn’t been able to help noticing her exceptionally good looks. Now, however, he detected ambition in her neat pretty features and the will to dazzle anyone out of her way. Her eyes looked like bluebells frozen in an ice cube. At the back of his mind, Remus tried to remember who Barnabas Cuffe – her father – was, because he had certainly heard the name, read it in the papers. If he wasn’t too far off, he was a man of considerable wealth and influence, though in what function was momentarily beyond him.

“… that’s why we have to make sure that our world is safe again.” Her words pulled him out of his thoughts, he had missed a bit of what she’d been saying. At that moment, Aeneas Crowley returned, balancing four glasses of Ogden’s.

“How do you like working for the Ministry, Mr Lupin?” he immediately launched into conversation.

“So far it has been interesting and rewarding”, Remus replied truthfully. No reason to let on that he had only taken the job to occupy his mind and give him something useful to do.

“Although you are really a teacher, aren’t you?”

Crowley scrutinized him closely. An uncomfortable feeling made itself felt in Lupin’s gut. Was the man implying that he was not suitable material for a Ministry post?

“I have done all kinds of things in my life”, he replied evenly, clinking his glass with the others and taking a cautious first sip.

“No plans to take up teaching again?”

“Not at present. I have a job.”

“Of course.” Crowley beamed amiably. “How good of you to take it so seriously, considering that the Ministry is hopelessly understaffed.”

“Hence our present problems”, Marlin remarked, making a sinister face.

“Problems?” Remus raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

“We have spoken about this before”, Marlin replied and there was the tiniest hint of reproach in his voice. “In my view, we haven’t yet begun to properly process the past.”

Remus had an idea where this was going. “In my view, it is more important to look forward”, he stated.

“I completely agree”, Aeneas Crowley said with a jovial smile. “However, there is no way of looking forward if one doesn’t bother to get rid of bad rubbish first.”

“If you are following the reports in the papers, you will certainly appreciate how difficult it is to find ex Death Eaters who have gone into hiding.”

“You are right there, Mr Lupin. However, isn’t this – among other obstacles – predominantly a matter of lacking financial means?”

“That, and the way how some people like to turn blind eyes these days”, Marlin amended with a pointed look.

“What do you mean?” Lupin asked and it came out a little harsh.

“You know exactly what I mean”, Marlin replied with a frown. “Two words: _Severus Snape_ …”

“Oh, come on. Not again!”

Aeneas Crowley eyed Lupin with a distant look of interest on his face. “Are you one of those who hold the view that the man should be left in peace? Go unscathed?”

Remus stared into Crowley’s eyes and found that it was not easy to hold the piercing gaze that exuded all the self-assurance in the world. “He hardly went unscathed”, he argued. “I think at this point we all know what Severus Snape has done for the wizarding world. Acting as spy in the lion’s den for years, putting himself in mortal danger …”

“Oh, I do not doubt that the man is brave”, Crowley said with a generous nod. “And certainly a lot of things he did were admirable. Others, however, not so much …”

“I’m sure a man of your status and experience knows that no person is either black or white, that there are grey areas …”

“Of course I do. But I must point out that courage and criminal behaviour are not mutually exclusive. In fact, bravado is the mark of the most callous villains.”

“That is certainly so”, Magrathea Crowley commented airily. “To some it’s bravery, to others it’s unscrupulousness.”

Remus supressed an irritated sigh. “As far as I’m concerned”, he began, trying to put a degree of finality into his voice, “I’m completely satisfied with what Harry Potter said at the hearing with the Wizengamot. He clearly stated that the war could not have been won, that he could not have defeated Tom Riddle without Severus Snape’s help.”

“I am sure that this is the way Harry Potter sees it”, Aeneas Crowley conceded.

“What a sweet boy”, purred his wife and again she made it sound as if she thought the exact opposite.

“However”, her husband took over, “you must not forget that the Potter boy’s perspective of things is greatly influenced by Albus Dumbledore. After all, he was his mentor, as I understand.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Remus asked, immediately regretting the recalcitrance of his tone.

“Nothing, per se. – However, as much as I admired Albus Dumbledore and his achievements as a wizard, he was also the man who protected Severus Snape for years. And that got him killed, I might add.”

“It was a death pact, as I’m sure you know.”

Crowley tilted his head. “Yes, there’s been a lot of talk about that.”

“You don’t believe it?”

“Oh, I believe it all right. Dumbledore may indeed have seen it as the right thing to be committing himself to at the time. However, it is my view that Mr Snape responded a little too readily to the death wish of an old, broken and frustrated man.”

“Albus Dumbledore may have been old, but he was certainly not frustrated”, Remus countered and found it difficult not to sound too irritated.

“But he must have been, poor man”, interjected Mrs Crowley. “After all those years, and with all the responsibility on his shoulders …”

“Believe me, Dumbledore’s shoulders were very strong and solid, even when he was not at his best.”

“As you are a member of the Order of the Phoenix, I can hardly blame you for admiring the man.” Aeneas Crowley’s smile was once again jovial and Remus felt the desperate urge to knock it off his face. “Nor can or will I blame you for wanting to be done with the past instead of raking up old stories …”

“It’s not about that!” Remus broke in. “And I’m certainly not being nostalgic about Albus Dumbledore. However, I am one-hundred per cent sure that Severus Snape, although he may have made some bad decisions in his youth, completely changed his ways and sufficiently made up for past mistakes!”

Crowley eyed Remus as if he found the latter’s words particularly interesting. There was a long pause before the stately businessman spoke again. “So if I understand you correctly, Mr Lupin, your contention is that it is enough for a murderer to regret his past actions to be completely forgiven and exonerated?”

Remus readily detected the pitfall. “Regret may not be enough”, he explained with an effort at patience, “but actively making amends by completely disregarding one’s own safety and comfort should certainly go neither unnoticed nor unrewarded.”

“Well, you see, there we disagree”, Aeneas Crowley said very quietly. “Let me tell you a story. For decades, I have been friends with Ansgard Periwinkle, a very respected member of the Wizengamot, as you may know.”

Remus nodded curtly, wondering where this was going.

“Mr Periwinkle has held his post for decades, even during the … difficult times.”

‘Which must mean that he made a deal with the Death Eaters’, Remus thought, but held his tongue.

“After the first wizarding war”, Crowley went on, “Periwinkle worked very hard to bring forward charges in the McKinnon assassination. I am sure you remember that incident, Mr Lupin.”

Of course. Who could ever forget Marlene McKinnon? The wiping out of her family had been one of the hardest blows to the Order during the first reign of Voldemort.

“You see, Periwinkle was related to the family by marriage, and he was horrified by the atrocities committed. Not merely clean killings – if a killing could ever be referred to as clean – but unspeakable brutality enacted upon the entire family, even the children. So finding someone responsible for these heinous acts became a mission to Periwinkle to which he dedicated himself whole-heartedly. Now, you may not know this, but Periwinkle was able to find witnesses who, without any doubt, put Severus Snape on the scene of the McKinnon murder.”

“What kind of witnesses?” Remus asked sourly, although the revelation threw him a little. “Ex Death Eaters? – You know very well that every one of them that was caught eagerly blamed their cronies to divert attention from themselves.”

“Sure they did. But is that justification enough to entirely dismiss their testimony? – No, Mr Lupin, there can be no doubt that Snape was involved in the assassination. Periwinkle tried for years to get to him, he was on Crouch’s back all the time. However, there was nothing to be done. Severus Snape was under the firm protection of Dumbledore, no one was able to touch the man.”

“Which fact should be enough to persuade anyone that Dumbledore was convinced of Severus’ reform.”

“You’re on first-name basis, are you?” Magrathea Crowley remarked, making it sound a little vulgar.

“We were at school together, colleagues at Hogwarts and he was a fellow-member of the Order”, Lupin explained pointedly, but a moment later he saw that the statement had been a mistake, not least because it had come out a tad heatedly.

“I see”, Mrs Crowley said with a knowing smile, “you and Mr Snape go way back.”

Staring at the woman, Remus found it particularly hard to keep the dislike out of his eyes.

“I respect your personal opinion of the man”, Aeneas Crowley said generously. “Even serial killers can be engaging fellows, I’m told.”

“‘Engaging’ is hardly the correct adjective …”

“Be that as it may. The fact remains that the man has never even been questioned, let alone punished for his past transgressions. Yes, he may have done the wizarding world a service or two, but that doesn’t change the fact that for a long time he completely disregarded the value of human life. I hear he was an advisor to the Dark Lord, provided him with strategic plans and poisons, too. He was ambitious, unscrupulous, and he took part in murderous acts. – And as for the murder of Dumbledore … it may well have been a death pact. However, I can’t help asking myself if there wasn’t another way? A wizard as powerful and cunning as Snape certainly is – would he not have been able to find an alternative, one that ensured that the old man would have lived on?”

“Albus Dumbledore had a powerful dark curse on himself”, Remus reminded him. “He would have died within a year. Why, he would have died much earlier if Snape hadn’t helped him, given him potions to contain the curse …”

“Yet, he sounds like an opportunist to me”, the Crowley woman chirped, inspecting her fingernails with an indifferent frown.

“Have you heard of euthanasia, Mr Lupin? It is much discussed in the Muggle world, and I have been following the discussion with some interest. There is a large lobby in the non-magical world advocating that helping someone die must be illegal – simply because giving and taking life is God’s prerogative, not that of any human being.”

“There is also a large lobby advocating the right of anyone to decide for themselves when it should be over.” Remus Lupin had always made a point of keeping himself informed on socio-political debates going on the Muggle world since they inevitably influenced the world views of the wizarding sphere.

“And yet, euthanasia is illegal and punishable in most countries.” Aeneas Crowley was gracious enough not to look too triumphant.

“This is not a question of euthanasia, however”, Remus argued, “first and foremost, Dumbledore’s death at the hands of Severus Snape was a strategic plan. A plan but for which the war could not have been won.”

“You are not alone with that opinion”, Crowley declared almost solemnly. “Just as large, however, is the number of those who hold the view that Snape’s actions may have been exactly as opportunistic as my wife said. That until the very last moment he was undecided which master to serve, and that in fact he observed very carefully which way the wind was blowing …”

“That’s nonsense!” Immediately, a dozen pairs of eyes in the immediate proximity were on Remus. He had become emotional and spoken too loudly. He took a deep breath. “You seem to forget that Riddle set his pet snake on Snape. Had it bite him through the neck and left him for dead! That was the kind of situation Snape exposed himself to for years, never knowing if he might come out alive of any given day.”

“And yet, he survived. Another miracle that hasn’t been solved yet …”

“Are you trying to say …”

“No.” Crowley decidedly shook his head. “I am sorry, Mr Lupin, we may both have been carried away by our little discussion. – The truth is, neither you nor me can decide whether Severus Snape is guilty or not. What really irks me, however, is how the man never spoke out publicly about his role in the war. Bolted the moment he was so mysteriously … resurrected. Never gave the Ministry any help. Just laid low for a couple of months and then quietly snug into Hogwarts again, which – by the way – worries not a small number of parents of Hogwarts students.”

There was nothing to say on that. In disappearing and refusing to cooperate, Severus had certainly done a very stupid thing and might even have committed a grave mistake. Remus would have liked to launch into an explanation on how the man was really a loner, too reserved and socially incompetent to be volunteering to actually talk to people. However, he didn’t, fearing that it would have made him look biased, and some instinct told Remus that this was not a wise impression to leave. Something was simmering beneath a well-covered surface, he could not yet tell what it was. However, he would definitely talk to a few people in the next days …

In that moment, another shadow darkened the doorstep of the _Leaky Cauldron_. It was an arresting appearance, and heads turned. Who they saw was a stately wizard with a well-groomed black beard, formal clothes and a pointed hat. His dark eyes swept through the room, and for a brief second came to rest on Remus’ group. Another one of his instincts – keen werewolf instincts – made him turn around sharply to Crowley, and he caught the glimmer of recognition.

“Claudius Selwyn”, Remus murmured to Crowley when the new arrival had passed without giving them another glance, “his family was close to the Death Eaters. Do you know him?”

Aeneas Crowley looked back at Remus with a stare of utter sincerity. “No. Never met him, I’m afraid.”

“He has a son and a daughter at Hogwarts”, babbled Marlin who was eager to re-join the conversation, “and a nephew, as well. He is one of the parents who are not too enthusiastic about Snape teaching at Hogwarts again. And Defence Against the Dark Arts at that!”

“Of course he would resent Snape!” Remus said sharply. “He betrayed the Death Eaters, after all, brought about Voldemort’s downfall. Selwyn’s brother is in jail.”

“There have never been any charges against Claudius Selwyn for having helped the Dark Lord’s followers!”

“I’m just saying that the tables have turned for Severus Snape. Who used to be his associates are now his enemies. That’s worth a mention, don’t you think?”

Aeneas Crowley breathed importantly, and Remus found himself inadvertently looking at him. Again, he took note of the man’s immense charisma. Crowley looked him in the eyes, they held a very friendly twinkle. “There, Mr Lupin, you are certainly right.”

However, Remus knew at once that it was a lie.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	26. The Seeker

**The Seeker**

 

It was a Friday evening at Hogwarts, dinner in the Great Hall had been successfully endured and Severus Snape was getting ready to take off to his home at Spinner’s End. He did so with mixed feelings. On the one hand, he was looking forward to the weekend, not so much to returning to his home than to seeing Elena. On the other hand, however, something irked him considerably and it took a while and specifically honesty to admit to what it was.

Her and Eddie Hincks, laughing and walking together near Diagon Alley, to _his_ favourite bookshop at that. What had she been thinking? Did she want to spoil the place for him?

Of course, that line of thought was stupid as he immediately realized on closer reflection. Certainly Elena had had no such intentions, she was far too happy-go-lucky to think up such perfidies. It was seeing the two of them together that had disturbed him so, particularly the look on Eddie Hincks’ face. He fancied her, that much was obvious. Snape had been able to see it as clearly as he’d seen James Potter fancying Lily. Even in his Hogwarts years, Snape had thought it a cruel twist of fate that he, who was at times so oblivious and clueless with regard to other people’s feelings, should have known exactly just how many rivals he’d had. The sheer numbers of them had staggered him and made him bitter. All those pimpled faces with fluffs for beards staring at Lily with wide eyes and becoming tongue-tied whenever she was around. It would have been funny, hadn’t it reminded him of the fact how slim his own chances were, how wide the range had been from which she could have picked – and she had chosen _James Potter_ of all people!

And now Eddie Hincks. Another giddy Gryffindor getting in his way, boldly babbling about ‘the bright side’, swaggering and acting so damn sure of himself Snape would have loved to knock that grin off his face. History was repeating itself and he was doomed to observe it, completely helpless. Plus, it made perfect sense, he had to admit it. Elena and the Hincks boy were a beautiful couple, about the same age, and handsome as they both were they looked as if they were made for each other. He should have realized it right away. If he had any sense, he’d stop seeing her, put an end to their lessons, spare himself the inevitable disillusionment. Just hanging on to it, hoping, was no good. With Lily, too, he had realized on some level that the more he fought against her getting closer to Potter, the more he’d inadvertently pushed her into that direction. It had been like a self-fulfilling prophecy. Your worst fears had the habit of becoming reality before your very eyes, like it was a law of nature.

At the same time, he knew that there was no way he could stop seeing Elena. Imagining her attentive face when he taught her made his insides twinge with yearning. When she’d run after him, telling him about her strange encounter with Claudius Selwyn, he’d realized how connected she felt to him, her initiator into the magical world. He could not turn away from that, couldn’t let go of the connection. Hope was a bloody bitch.

And of course, the Selwyn incident had to be talked through. It was, after all, a significant occurrence. Claudius Selwyn was the brother of Augustus Selwyn, a former Death Eater now rotting in jail and father to Arcadius Selwyn, the one who was poisoning his fellow Slytherins against Snape. It was obvious that the Selwyn family harboured a considerable hatred against him, the spy, the traitor. But was Claudius Selwyn the author of the blood parchments? It was certainly a possibility, although Snape couldn’t really believe that anyone of the Selwyns had it in them. However, it was the best lead he had so far.

Then there was the matter of Elena’s perception of the man’s hatred. She had felt his hatred as if it was her own, she had told him. At first, Snape had thought that his introducing her into Legilimency was finally getting somewhere. Now, however, he had a different theory and if he was right, that was quite interesting in itself and he must tell her about it.

He was just throwing his travelling cloak over his shoulders when there was an adamant knock on the door of his office.

“Come in”, he snarled with an impatient sigh.

The door flew open and in a huff, a red-cheeked student dressed up in silver and green sports robes rushed in.

“Sir! You have to see this!”

It was Theo Parkinson, younger and far more manageable brother to the intrepid Pansy and captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team.

“Not now, Parkinson, I’m on my way out”, he replied edgily. “Can’t it wait until Monday?”

“But sir … it’s happening _right_ _now_!” The boy’s eyes were wide and he had a hard time catching his breath.

In spite of himself, Snape was a little alarmed. What were the tykes up to now? “What’s happening?”

“The Quidditch pitch”, Parkinson coughed, “there’s some serious talent going on there, but you have to see it with your own eyes or you won’t believe me!”

“That spectacular?” Snape’s mouth twitched ironically.

“Let me say it like this, sir: from this day on, Harry Potter is a non-entity! At least as far as Quidditch is concerned …”

Now that _did_ sound enthralling. Severus shot Parkinson a dark look – meaning that this better be worth his time – then followed him out of his office. He had a hard time keeping up with the boy who hurried through the castle towards the pitch at a runner’s pace. Maybe he _was_ getting old, although he hated that realization.

Friday nights were usually reserved for the Slytherin team for practice. Amplified _Lumi_ doused the place in a warm light, but to his surprise, Snape saw that most of the team were on the ground, staring upwards. The looks on their faces were a little stupid and incredulous, so he turned up his own eyes to see what was so fascinating. He heard a familiar flutter which he recognized immediately as that of the Snitch which zoomed around madly, chased closely by a small figure on a broom. The Snitch changed direction suddenly, dropping by several feet, but the Seeker was on it and almost directly over Snape’s head, the broom rider dropped, as well, in a breath-taking manoeuvre, flying a neck-breaking looping and whooping in the process.

Snape narrowed his eyes and looked at Parkinson who was standing beside him, panting and staring up with undisguised glee. “Who is this?” he asked in a low voice.

“It’s the Muggle”, Theo replied with a grin. “Laurie Paik.”

Snape only just managed to keep his jaw from dropping. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah”, the boy grinned. “She’s been on my back for the past few days, begging me to let her try. Said that she’s been riding … I don’t know … the Muggles call them ‘half-pipes’ … I have no idea what that is … but obviously it requires a lot of balance and coordination, they do it on those inline rollers, you see … and obviously she’s done that kind of stuff since she was five …”

“I see”, Snape breathed and looked up again where Laurie Paik was flying a wide circle, then suddenly changed direction with another overhead looping and raced towards the stands in a straight line, drawing up her broom at the very last moment and rising, rising high into the air so that she was above the dome of light over the pitch and out of sight.

“I have to admit, I didn’t believe her at first”, Theo Parkinson went on. “Wouldn’t expect a Muggle to ride such a mean broom, would you?”

“She’s not a Muggle, Parkinson, or she wouldn’t be here”, Snape reminded him.

Theo’s cheeks flushed a little. “I guess you’re right, sir. – Well, in any case, I let her try after all, and I think … we might have a new Seeker.”

A deafening scream of jubilation rang out and the Paik girl came into view again, racing towards Snape and Theo Parkinson, holding up her right hand in which she held the struggling Snitch. She stopped at the very last moment, let herself drop from the broom and rolled off elegantly on the ground, scrambling swiftly to her feet. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement and her grin nearly split her face in half. She ran towards Theo and thrust the Snitch into his hand.

“Here’s your bloody thing, dumbass”, she crowed, “and no need to thank me, it was a fucking pleasure!”

Only now did she notice Snape and the grin softened a little. It didn’t make her any more respectful, though. “Now, what d’you think? Can I fly or can I fly?” she demanded bolshily.

Snape kept himself from smiling and found that it was surprisingly hard. “There’s certainly some talent”, he admitted coolly.

“Some talent, my ass!” The girl was trembling with adrenaline, she was close to passing out on it.

“Don’t talk like that to your Head of House!” Theo Parkinson hissed, but his eyes glittered. He turned to Snape. “What do you think, sir? We have to teach her how to talk right, she’s got a mouth like a sewer. But otherwise …”

Snape nodded. He, too, was brimming inside, but he willed himself to stay calm and surveyed Laurie who was still riding her Quidditch high. By now, the rest of the team had joined them. They stared at the small first-year and mixed emotions were showing on their faces. A part of them didn’t like this one bit, but Snape knew very well what the other part of them was thinking about: the Quidditch House Championships of the next seven years …

“We need your permission, sir”, Theo reminded him, “she’s only a first year …”

“I’ll have to talk to the headmistress, but I don’t see a problem”, Snape replied with a shrug. “If Harry Potter got permission, why shouldn’t she?” He gave the girl a stern eye. “But you will have to train a lot”, he said to her, “and your schoolwork mustn’t suffer.”

She grinned at him lopsidedly. “Gotcha”, she said, earning stares from the team. Snape saw Laurie give him an almost imperceptible wink. In that moment, he realized that she had done exactly what he had told her: found a way to make the other Slytherins to at least respect her … and find out their secrets. Doing it through schoolwork was quite obviously too tedious and slow for her. Quidditch, certainly, was an as valid or even better way to make her housemates forget what she was and where she came from.

Although he felt very content inside – he was, after all, competitive and wanted to see his House restored to its old Quidditch glory that Gryffindor had so boldly usurped in recent years – he maintained his unfazed façade, drew his travelling cloak around himself and made a dignified exit. There was no need to worry about Laurie Paik anymore. She would be fine from here on out.

 

* * *

 

She answered the door immediately upon his knock.

“Hello, stranger”, Elena said with a broad grin.

Snape twitched uncertainly. He gathered that her remark had some kind of meaning but he couldn’t figure out which.

“You look very different without the beard”, she elaborated, stepping back to allow him to enter. “And if I may say so, it’s an improvement.”

He shrugged and went into the hallway. He didn’t know how to take compliments, mistrusted them deeply, in fact, and could have done without comments on his appearance altogether. However, he couldn’t help noticing hers. Elena had never looked as much like a witch before, wearing a long-sleeved dress the hem of which reached her ankles, and elegant shoes with straps at the front. Her hair was delicately braided and for a second he allowed himself the illusion that she had gone to all the trouble because of him. He wanted to say something about the way she looked, or would have wanted to, but he didn’t know how, which words would be the right ones (and also, there was the danger of ridicule to consider), so he decided not to say anything at all.

The Crawford living room was, for once, tidy and she had lit candles, made tea and put a plate of biscuits on the table. Pity he didn’t have a sweet tooth, but he noted the effort. Again, however, he was not able to say so and as a result, he merely took a seat and looked up at her. “Can we begin?”

A moody expression swept over her face. Snape felt that what he’d said was somehow wrong or at least not what she had expected and he racked his brains as to how he might make amends. Needless to say, nothing occurred to him.

“Alright”, she finally said very curtly and sat down opposite him. “How have you been?”

“No different than last time you saw me”, he replied truthfully.

She rolled her eyes. “Sorry for asking”, she mumbled.

That moodiness of hers. It made him even more twitchy than he had been to begin with.

“Won’t you take off your cloak?” she asked with an ironic quirk of her full red lips that he found himself staring at.

He could have slapped himself. Hastily, he slipped out of the long, wallowing garment. However, in doing so he remembered something and lunged onto it, glad to finally have a topic of conversation, a topic that was buried deep in his cloak pocket.

Snape held out the Time Turner towards her. “Can you explain this?”

“What is this, the inquisition?” she shot back, now on the verge of a foul mood.

“No”, he said, once more astonished at the atmospheric change. “I want to know.”

Elena sighed. “I don’t feel comfortable with it right now”, she explained after a while.

“Don’t you need it? I thought you found it helpful?”

“I don’t need it as much as I used to”, she admitted, “I only meet you on the weekends now, so …”

“So?”

“It attracts too much attention”, she explained with a sigh. “I’ve got this dancing student … he saw it recently when it slipped out of my blouse.”

Snape raised an eyebrow.

“While dancing!” she hissed quite forcefully.

“Whatever”, he said, his confusion increasing.

“In any case, he saw it and made a few remarks … that’s when I started to feel uncomfortable.”

“You think he figured out what it is?”

“Of course not! He’s a consummate Muggle …”

Now he had to stop himself from smiling as it was funny to hear her refer to someone as a ‘consummate Muggle’.

“But he’s also very nosy. Asks me personal questions all the time …”

“Ah. So you don’t like that, either.”

“Depends on who’s asking.”

A small silence ensued.

“Is it the man I saw you with that morning?” Snape asked, not out of interest, but because he was trying desperately to keep the conversation going. “The one with …”

“… the big-ass Mercedes. Yes.”

“What kind of questions does he ask?”

“Oh, nothing really”, she waved her hand. “He’s just … middle-aged and lonely …”

“I see.” He glowered a little.

“I mean … that’s probably why he’s so keen on my company and knowing about me”, she hastened to explain. “Also, we’re both strangers in a strange land. We like to bitch about the Brits together, the politeness, the small talk, all this … opaqueness that we don’t get ...”

“Opaqueness”, he repeated. He’d completely lost her now.

“Direct conversation can be refreshing.”

“Obtrusive questions, too?”

She smiled now. “That’s exactly why I’d rather you kept the Time Turner for a while. It’s safer. Do you mind?”

“No.” With a swift movement, he put the magical item back into the pocket of his cloak. “You shouldn’t have given it to my house-elf, though.”

“Why not?”

Again, Snape twitched a little. “She … doesn’t …”

“… approve of Muggles”, Elena completed his sentence, her eyes cold.

“House-elves are sworn to iron allegiance with their families”, Snape hurried to explain. “They take over their views, their respective philosophies … they can’t help it, that’s the way they are.”

“Meaning that you don’t approve of Muggles, either?” She stared at him belligerently, her chin pushed forward.

“No.” Snape felt the heat rise in his cheeks. “I don’t care. But … that house-elf was trained by my mother, and she …”

“… hates _Mudbloods_.”

“I already told you not to use that word!”

“Does she or doesn’t she?” Elena insisted stubbornly as if she hadn’t heard him.

“She married a Muggle”, Snape said quietly.

However, it did nothing to stop Elena’s partisan mood. “It’s the same everywhere. Everyone’s got their bloody principles, but they can be twisted and turned as required. Hypocrites, all of them.” Then she suddenly clamped her mouth shut, having realized that she had just called his mother a hypocrite. It didn’t throw Snape, though.

“Maybe”, he admitted evenly.

“Aren’t you the same?”

He looked up in utter surprise. “What makes you say that?”

“Hasn’t a Muggle girl been sorted into your house?”

Ah. The grapevine.

“Did the Hincks boy tell you that?”

“The _Hincks_ _boy_ also told me that you’re not lifting a finger to help her.”

His eyebrows drew together and he felt his pulse quicken with anger. “That’s complete nonsense!”

“I hear she’s shunned and avoided and hated … And you just let it happen! An eleven-year old girl! They treat her like shit and you let it happen!”

“I don’t!” he bellowed, staring at her wildly. Her forest-green eyes scrutinized him calculatingly. He felt himself swallowed up by those eyes and he stared back, willing her not to look away. “I don’t”, he repeated, now a little softer.

“Alright”, she whispered, seemingly reconciled.

“She made the Slytherin Quidditch team today”, he said as if this explained everything and completely exonerated him.

She drew her brows together. “What’s _Quidditch_?”

He moaned, letting his head fall against the armchair he was sitting in.

Elena laughed. It was a mirthful giggle and any anger she might have felt a few seconds ago seemed to have blown away without a trace. “What a drag, having to deal with ignorant Muggles, huh?”

“No.” Snape’s voice was strangled, with a note of exasperation in it. Her mood swings confused him, but he was glad to hear her laugh again. He willed himself to tear his eyes away from her. He had to watch that, he knew that he tended to stare and remembered well how it had confused Lily, turned her off even. From a certain age onward, she had flatly refused to meet his eyes for any length of time. Not this woman, though. Elena observed him closely with an amused glitter in her eyes and that made him fidget because he had the ugly feeling that she was having him on.

“Since we’re on the subject of Muggles and pure-bloods, anyway”, Elena went on, “it brings me back to my encounter in Diagon Alley …”

“Yes.” He nodded, immensely glad to have found something to discuss. “Claudius Selwyn.”

“Who is he?”

“The Selwyns are a very old wizarding family”, Snape explained, now on safe ground. “They have an association to the Death Eaters. Claudius’ brother Augustus used to belong to the Dark Lord’s high ranks. Like I already told you, he’s in jail now.”

“So they have a reason to hate you. Do you think he might have something to do with those parchments?”

“I doubt he’d be sophisticated enough for that kind of perfidy”, Snape said doubtfully, “but there is definitely something going on in that family.” After a short consideration, he went on. “Augustus Selwyn’s son – Claudius’ nephew – is one of my students. He definitely hates me.”

In a few quick words, he brought her up to date on his dealings with Laurie Paik – she liked to hear those news, he could tell – and what the girl had told him about the conspiracy going on behind his back at Hogwarts. He also mentioned the vaults and the portkeys again, and also how some of his Slytherins liked to sneak down there, and Elena listened intently.

“Tell me about those portkeys once more”, she demanded.

“They’re figurines. Have you ever seen Tarot cards?”

“Tarot cards?” Her eyes became wide. “Like … the Fool, the Hanged Man, the Tower …”

“Yes. The motives of the figurines look exactly like the High Arcana and …”

“I dreamt about a lightning-struck tower”, she broke in, face serious. “It reminded me of Tarot cards …”

“You did? When?”

“A couple of weeks ago …”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it was stupid. Tarot cards … it’s superstition.”

“What exactly did you dream?”

“It was just … a tower in a deserted landscape. By the sea, I believe. It was struck by lightning and burst into flames …”

“Fire?” His eyebrows travelled up high on his forehead. “And you didn’t think it necessary to tell me about that?”

Elena scoffed. “I dream all sorts of things. It is difficult to tell what has a meaning and what doesn’t.” A strange smile played around her lips, but only for the fraction of a second before her face became serious again. “Speaking of fire … do you know of any death by fire in the Selwyn family?”

He shook his head.

“Maybe you should look into that”, she suggested. “And maybe you should go and see this Aubrey guy again. Ask him straight out whether he knows that man, this Claudius Selwyn? Ask him in a way to which he can reply either Yes or No, so he won’t start to bleed again.”

Snape gave a curt nod, his usual reaction to a good idea. Again, he found it hard not to gaze at her too intensely, but she did not seem to notice because she was obviously lost in thought, her dark-green eyes staring at a point hanging between them.

“Why do you think did I feel what that man felt?” she asked finally and it came out a little uncertainly.

Now Snape was on safe ground again.

“Magic takes many forms”, he launched into a lecture, “particularly, it may heighten certain senses such as empathy or what you call intuition. As you proceed in your magical studies, you may find it easier to feel with others. This is, by the way, a promising approach to Legilimency, since the heightened empathy might provide a jump-off point. I think we should go in that direction more.”

“I’m not sure whether you’re right”, she said dismissively. “Sure, I felt what that man was feeling, but that was a first. With you, for instance, I _never_ know what you’re feeling and I’ve tried to intrude into your mind several times …”

He smiled in spite of himself. “But then, I’m quite an Occlumens …”, he said with a weak attempt at modesty.

Their eyes met and amused wrinkles appeared around hers. He felt himself sink into them again, but he willed himself to break the spell and straightened his shoulders. “So … why don’t we start with Legilimency today?”

She inclined her head with a mysterious smile he found hard to interpret. “By all means, Professor, let’s do that …”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	27. The Lighthouse

**The Lighthouse**

 

The boys’ dorm room smelt of old socks, sweat and a complex mix of testosterone and all kinds of colognes. It was an odour that transported him right back into his teenage years although he would never have been able to recreate it in his mind or even have known that adolescent males smelt like that. Being confronted with it, however, he was astonished how powerful the olfactory gate to the past was and it reminded him of what Elena had once told him about a French writer who had over several thousand pages of a novel relived his entire childhood and youth through the taste of a biscuit dunked into herbal tea. Suddenly, Snape felt like the young boy he had once been and who had lived in this room. A tangled set of feelings came with that; eagerness, anger, the desperate wish to be seen and acknowledged as well as the painful bite of unrequited love.

He pushed those thoughts away, but couldn’t help wondering whether he had not been in this room for such a long time – decades, in fact – by design, because he had feared the bitter memories it might stir up. After all, as the Head of Slytherin House he had every right to be here. That said, he had made extra sure that the seventh-year boys were safely tucked away in Transfiguration class. He did not want any one of them to be walking in on him and on what he was doing.

The bed of Arcadius Selwyn was not hard to find. His pyjamas, neatly folded by house-elves and arranged on top of the pillow, had his initials embroidered into them and set him apart. ‘Archie’, as his friends called him, was the undisputed King of Slytherin, his blood purer than anyone else’s and his clothes a touch more expensive. An old resentment directed at those loved and well-cared-for kids welled up in Snape and he admonished himself to finally get on with it.

He searched the boy’s drawers, a dragon-hide bag left by the nightstand and even checked under the bed. Nothing out of the ordinary. Maybe this was a fool’s errand. Snape didn’t, after all, know if there was anything in the Selwyn family that had a connection to his current problem. He was merely trying to explore any leads that presented themselves. The Selwyn boy might have a big mouth and a hateful family, but it didn’t mean that he had anything to do with the author of the blood parchments.

However, Snape wasn’t ready to give up yet. His eyes dashed around the room. He checked the cupboards and drawers, found nothing. Then his eyes came to rest on the boys’ trunks that were stacked in a corner.

Selwyn’s would be the shiniest and most expensive-looking one. Pure-blood parents would stuff anything up their offspring’s scrawny arses, as he had sufficiently witnessed at the Malfoy house. Sure enough, the suitcase, too, had Selwyn’s initials plastered across it. Snape dragged the trunk out of its stack, put it on one of the beds and opened it.

A spider hurried along the trunk’s bottom. It was empty except for a slim compartment hidden in the lid. After a short moment of hesitation, Snape shoved his hand into the compartment and brought out a stack of papers. Most of it was rubbish. Parchments from someone who, from the tone of them, was his mother; moving pictures of nude witches lolling sensuously on velvety sofas; a receipt from a rather doubtful dark-arts shop on Knockturn Alley. No surprises so far. Then he stumbled over a very crumpled-looking piece of paper. The touch of it told Snape immediately that it was a newspaper cut-out. He unfolded the piece to scrutinize it and as he did so, something fell out. A card, the back of it completely black. Snape turned it around, although a sense of premonition told him what he would see. It was a Tarot card. The Tower. He stared at the painted image of the bursting building from which people with horror-stricken faces fell into flames and nothingness. Could this be a coincidence?

He turned to the newspaper cutting. It was a short obituary dedicated to one Aida Leshnikova, born in 1964 and deceased in 1996, two years ago. Snape’s black eyes flew over the lines.

_The English community of pure-blood families mourns the loss of one of their own. Aida Leshnikova’s flame burnt bright, albeit short, and in the end she returned to her element. May you light the dark realms of eternity and may your sparkling smile please the Gods of vengeance so they will even out the balance that your death has so sorely upset._

_Commiserating with the Leshnikov and Karkaroff families – Augustus Selwyn and Eloise, Claudius Selwyn and Nadja, Livia Yaxley, née Selwyn; with Brutus, Arcadius, Marcius, Persephone, Flavia …_

Snape let the cutting sink and stared into nothingness. His head was swimming, too many thoughts vying for attention. He felt an urgency within himself as if he should know now and indeed he probably knew on a subconscious level, but wasn’t able to grip it or to even put a finger to it. He keenly felt, however, that this short snippet was the key.

Aida Leshnikova. He had never heard that name before but he certainly knew the name Karkaroff. Igor Karkaroff, his old associate who had bolted and fled when the Dark Lord had returned, only to be found dead two years later, killed under suspicious circumstances. Also he seemed to remember that Augustus Selwyn, now rotting in jail, had married a Bulgarian pure-blood and that he had met her through Igor. If he wasn’t mistaken. Snape had never taken a particular interest in the romantic entanglements of his fellow Death Eaters.

 _Aida Leshnikova’s flame burnt bright, albeit short, and in the end she returned to her element …_ The fire analogy was so blatant as to almost jump him in the face. Did she die by fire? And if so, was that the incident alluded to in that most harrowing parchment that had also announced the death of Clive Carnegie?

But even if the unfortunate woman had died this way – what did it have to do with him, Snape? He had never heard the name before, which meant that he had never met her because he hardly ever forgot the name of someone he’d met, not the complete name, at least, either the first or family name would always stick in his mind. He remembered something different, though. Igor Karkaroff, shortly before he had fled, staring at him adamantly. _I can’t stay, Severus, you have to see that! I have ratted on too may people, he won’t forgive me. I have to go and I advise you to do the same. I’ll be going back to Bulgaria, to my family, I’ll be safe there. You won’t tell him, will you? Promise me you won’t tell him …_

Snape’s stomach churned. He felt acutely uncomfortable in his own skin. Something lingered in front of his inner eye, ready to be revealed and grasped, but the thin veil that hid it proved to be quite opaque. He couldn’t rip it away, wasn’t able to see what lay behind it. He felt that some part of him didn’t want to. He squeezed his eyes shut, the tips of his fingers pressed down on the bridge of his nose.

A noise on the stairs shook him out of his forced line of thought. Hastily, he stuffed the obituary and Tarot card, the lewd pictures and the parchments back into the compartment of Selwyn’s trunk which he restored to its place in the stack. Quietly he left the dormitory, meeting no one except a couple of house-elves on the warpath of cleanliness. His shoulders squared and walking with the assuredness of the Slytherin Head of House, he went back to his quarters.

 

* * *

 

Half an hour later, while he was sitting in his office staring into empty air, there was a quiet knock on the door.

“Come in”, he commanded.

The door opened a fraction and Laurie Paik squeezed in. She had a broad conspiratorial smile on her face as if she shared something with him and had every right to his attention. For a second, this irked him. Then he remembered that he and the Muggle Slytherin had in fact an understanding.

“Miss Paik”, he drawled, “shouldn’t you be in class?”

“I left”, she explained matter-of-factly, “I simply told Flitwick that I was feeling sick.”

“You lied”, Snape stated, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course! If I came to see you after class, everyone’d know.”

Snape leant forward at his desk, taking in the girl with her scraggly black hair and the ever so light sneer in the corners of her mouth. “Have you got something to say?”

“What do I get for it?”

“What about me telling Flitwick of your little lie?”

Her grin fell and she gave him a dark scowl that matched his own. “I thought you should know that they’re planning something. Selwyn and the others.”

Snape remained silent for a moment. “And you know this how?” he asked after a fashion.

“I heard them. They were talking in the greenhouse. That’s where they meet.”

“What exactly did you hear?”

She frowned. “Unfortunately, I came too late. I heard only the end of their talk. But something is going to happen, and it’s going down on Halloween.”

Halloween. Snape’s eyebrows drew together. He hated Halloween. Nothing good had ever come from it. Specifically, it was Lily’s death day. Ever since, he’d harboured his personal superstitions about that holiday, trying mostly to avoid it and stay cooped up in his quarters. This never went so well because on Halloween Hogwarts turned crazy and his presence as a teacher and peacekeeper was required. He sighed. “You couldn’t be more precise?”

“Not really”, she shrugged. “But I heard Alice Nott ask whether they absolutely had to go ‘down there’. I’m pretty sure they meant the vaults. You know, where they hung me up.”

Snape got up from his chair quietly, carefully hiding his inner turmoil from the girl. By instinct, he felt for his wand. He knew exactly what he had to do, what he couldn’t put off any longer.

“Go back to your class”, he murmured.

“But I’m _sick_!” she protested.

“Then tell Flitwick you puked your heart out in the bathroom and feel better know. I won’t support your playing truant.”

“I thought you’d be pleased!”

“About you lying to my colleagues?” He scoffed. “The fact that I asked you to keep your eyes open for me doesn’t mean that I’m going to let you use me for your schemes.”

“I told you something really important, didn’t I?”

“It wasn’t very conclusive”, he stated coldly. “I still don’t know what to expect.”

“Well, sorry!” Her tone was reproachful. “Spying’s not so easy …”

“Tell me about it.”

“But I _did_ hear something else!”

“Yes?”

Now the grin came back and exposed a line of very even white teeth, obviously a gift of nature. “They say you’ve got a woman. A Muggle.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Who said that?”

“Archie. I mean, the Selwyn arsehole.” She looked at him curiously. “Is it true?”

“Do you really think I wish to discuss my private life with an eleven-year old kid?”

Once more her grin threatened to split her face in half. “So it _is_ true! Honestly, I didn’t think you would! I thought that if you’d ever take up with anyone, it would be some pure-blood bitch. But hey, I think it’s _totally_ okay …”

“Out with you!” he snarled. “Now!”

For the fraction of a second, she looked as if she wanted to protest. However, the look on his face dissuaded her and she quietly dashed towards the door. With a sigh of relief, Snape realized that he still could do it, shut up recalcitrant teenagers with no more than one dirty look. After recent events, he’d been a little worried on that front.

 

* * *

 

He didn’t have more than one hour. Right after lunch, DADA lessons with the third year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs would start and he’d have to rid them of their stereotypes on vampires (who were generally believed to be so interesting, but in truth no doubt the dullest creatures imaginable). If the lesson didn’t take place, it would make the tykes’ day as he very well knew, but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Hope, however, was all he had and maybe it was stupid to undertake what he had in mind here and now, but he found that he couldn’t wait one minute longer.

So Severus Snape went down to the vaults. He carefully released the seals – finding that the outer one had been tampered with, but not broken – and closing them right behind him, he went towards the cut-out room of the Arcana figurines with a glum feeling in his chest. Maybe he should have destroyed this room the moment he’d found it. Maybe he should have been a little more insistent with the Ministry so that they would come sooner and have a look at it. The truth was, he didn’t believe that there was anyone at the Ministry better equipped to deal with this room than himself. However, he’d neglected dealing with it out of a strange mixture of excuses, waiting for ‘the right moment’, for instance, and also out of something that he now recognized as something resembling fear. And it was particularly the figurine of the Tower that worried him.

Snape walked towards it swiftly, inhaling deeply. Don’t take time to think now, just touch the damn thing and get it over with. He gripped his wand tightly in his left-hand pocket and stretched out the right, closing it around the slim pillar of the Tower …

* * *

 

The ride was smooth, the swoosh in his ears ever so slight.

The next moment, a rough wind whipped his face and a spray of rain greeted him. A thundering noise reached his ears and set his teeth on edge for a short moment before he recognized what it was – the thunder of the sea, the noise of waves crushing over one another and against a coast of white cliffs. Snape was standing on a deserted heath, the grass blown flat against the sandy soggy ground. Grey clouds were chasing across the sky, competing with the water in tumbling, incessant movement, hectic upheaval.

In the middle of all this stood a lighthouse. Painted red and white, it sturdily pushed against the angry sky. Its walls were smooth, without any kind of ornament except for an iron ladder attached to them. Windows were few and far between, modest little slits in the moistly glittering walls.

Severus turned on the spot, looking about himself. The heath stretched for miles, up and down hills, and not a soul was in sight. He tasted salt on his lips. Shivering, he drew his cloak a little tighter around himself and walked a considerable stretch towards the lighthouse.

He had to walk around it almost full-circle before he found a small wooden door. Snape murmured ‘ _Alohomora’_ and it gave with a squeak, opening up on a small round space with soaked and swollen floorboards and a very simple set of stairs – more resembling a ladder – leading upwards. By the foot of the stairs, someone had left an old pair of wellies. However, there was no sound indicating human presence.

Snape moved carefully around the space, wand at the ready and repeatedly checking in all directions. His steps were almost inaudible, he knew how to creep and move without the slightest noise. He went up the stairs, found a run-down kitchen that looked deserted apart from a plate on a sideboard that had crumbs and a rancid smear of butter on it. Apples rotted in a basket and there was a smell faintly reminiscent of coffee. So the place wasn’t completely deserted. Someone came here, and ordinarily Snape would have assumed it was the lighthouse-keeper, had not a portkey lead him to this place, making a more sinister presence likely.

However, as he carefully proceeded to explore the lighthouse, he found no one and nothing. On an upper floor was a simple bedroom, the floor swept, the bed made, linen looking crisp, a basin in the corner sporting water spots, but no clothes, no personal items.

Finally, he arrived on top of the lighthouse tower on a narrow platform surrounded by a low iron railing. Up here, the wind screamed, singing the song of a mad man. For some reason, this comparison springing to his mind sent a shiver down Severus’ spine. He stared out onto the restless sea, its waves steely grey with whitish foam on top, competing for attention with the wind. Then he noticed something on the platform.

It was a kind of grid, about six foot high and thus towering a bit over Snape. Its bars and rods where straight, but on top was a rounded metal frame that looked as if it ordinarily held something, an object of a similar shape, rounded and no more than one and a half foot in diameter. He considered this device, but couldn’t come up with any clue as to its function. He couldn’t even say whether this was a wizarding or Muggle instrument.

On the whole, the entire place looked pretty Muggle. What could be more innocent than a deserted lighthouse that had lost its practical use with the invention of radars? However, it was frequently a building abandoned by Muggles that provided a good hiding place for a wizard who didn’t want to be detected. After all, there had to be a reason why the Tower portkey had led him here. At least during the war, this building must have had a kind of function, or why go to the trouble and connect it to a portkey with a set of complicated spells? Then again, the war was over. Maybe this was what it looked like: a sad and forlorn relic.

What should he do? Hide in the lighthouse and wait? Set it on fire so it couldn’t do any harm to anyone?

He liked that last idea. It seemed a little out of proportion to destroy this place, but at least this would make the portkey redundant, no one would have any reason to travel to this place anymore and it couldn’t do any harm. Snape stopped himself there. A _place_ couldn’t do harm, God damn it, that was a privilege of the people who used it. Yet, something about this place by the sea was hostile. Something told him that it was better turned to dust.

The problem was that he didn’t know what he would destroy. Burning it down might get him into trouble with the Ministry as it might still hold important clues to its former use. After all, he hadn’t been able to investigate every nook and cranny and there _must_ be a reason why a portkey installed by the Carrows would lead here.

No, he couldn’t burn it down. Although this realization made him feel uncomfortable, it was quite clear. In all this, it wasn’t so much the trouble with the Ministry he feared. It was more the reluctance of the passionate wizard to destroy a potential abode of secrets. Snape realized that he had an almost absurd reverence for secrets, much as if secrets were persons and destroying them would mean murdering them. Secrets had always been an integral part of his existence. He had survived on secrets, had juggled and manipulated them until he’d come out – surprisingly – alive and breathing at the other end. He felt that this was a place of mystery and that he couldn’t bring himself to destroy it although the rational part of him clearly stated that it would be better.

“Another time”, he murmured to himself. “There’s nothing here that’s a threat. Deal with it another time.”

He climbed down the stairs, left the lighthouse through the small creaking door and stepped out on the heath. Casting one last look around, he shook his wand and Disapparated on the spot …

 

* * *

 

In the evening of that day, a little meeting took place at the _Three Broomsticks_. It looked like a reunion of old friends that made many a punter’s heads turn. After all, everybody in the wizarding world knew Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, the heart and brain of the so-called ‘Golden Trio’. Remus Lupin, too, was a well-known figure and greeted by smiles and warm Hellos. In the company of the most popular werewolf in the wizarding sphere was a handsome young man who only a handful of people – including Madam Rosmerta, the overjoyed landlady – recognized as Eddard Hincks, Gryffindor material beyond reproach and aspiring Ministry official.

Rosmerta made sure they got one of the best tables, located in an alcove, the benches and chairs covered with squashy cushions. Butterbeer was promptly served and the conversation quickly entered a lively course.

“So glad you could make it”, said Hermione, beaming at Lupin. “You’ve been a stranger lately. – And you, too.” She gave Harry a wink that was only a tad reproachful.

“Loads of stuff to do”, explained Harry, wiping foam from his upper lip. “Business at the Ministry’s crazy.”

“Are you making good progress at catching dark wizards?” Hermione asked with a grin.

The men exchanged uncertain glances.

“We’re trying”, said Remus with a sigh. “But there is nothing as difficult to find as a Death Eater that doesn’t want to be found. I expect most of them prepared for the eventuality of Voldemort’s downfall, finding places to hide in or even transfiguring their faces.”

“Tricky”, Hermione admitted, but there was a frown on her face. “I saw that article in the _Prophet_. The one about supposed Ministry incompetence …”

Harry, Remus and Eddie groaned in unison.

“If I ever get to the muckraker who wrote this …”, growled Eddie.

“What then?” grumbled Remus. “Jinx them? That would mightily improve our reputation …”

“Of course I wouldn’t”, Eddie assured him. “But it makes me angry. We are already doing our best! Everyone knows that we are understaffed, especially in RRR, so why don’t they cut us some slack?”

“Because they’re afraid”, said Remus with a shrug. “Fear is a strong opinion-maker. For weeks and months, there was nothing but celebration. Now the mood is changing. People have started to notice that the dark element is not out of the world, but merely in hiding, probably festering underground. It makes them nervous. And who can blame them, after all the wizarding community has been through?”

“Still it’s harsh”, remarked Harry. “It’s like they’re projecting all their expectations on us.”

“On who should they project it?” asked Remus. “The Ministry of Magic is there to protect them. Understaffing sounds like a weak excuse.”

“So it’s a lot of overtime, then?” Hermione smiled softly. “Makes seventh year sound like a dance …”

“How are you getting on with that?” asked Remus. “Become Head Girl, I hear?”

“Yep”, Hermione grinned. “With my own bed- and bathroom. Kind of nice, I have to say, although I miss sleeping in a dormitory a bit. These days I feel a bit lonely at Hogwarts … everybody’s awfully nice, but they treat me like a holy cow.”

“As soon as you’re done you should join us.” Harry nudged her in the side. “We could really do with a little know-it-all such as you.”

“ _Insufferable_ little know-it-all, if you please”, Hermione corrected him cheerfully. “And as you know, that is precisely my plan. However, I don’t know if I want to become an Auror and catch dark wizards. I think I’ve had my fill of that. I’m thinking more in the direction of house-elves’ rights …”

“I heard you have your opinions on that”, remarked Eddie good-naturedly.

However, it was a sore spot with Hermione. “At least I _do_ have opinions. And don’t try to persuade me that house-elves don’t need the lobby because they really like the slave work they are made to do and all that crap. It’s enough that Ron tries all the time.”

“Of course, he doesn’t stand a chance”, Lupin said, laughing. “I see your point, Hermione. But Harry is right: we could really do with a brilliant mind such as yours at the Ministry, particularly in the present climate.”

Hermione’s cheeks started to glow. Not for the first time, Remus noted what a pretty young woman she had become, with skin as smooth as of a fresh peach. It was also the quiet self-assurance of someone who had done something very brave at a very young age that made her very calm, happy with herself and hence attractive. She relished the praise he had given her for a second. Then her face became serious. “What do you mean, ‘in the present climate’?”

Remus Lupin frowned. “I’m afraid there are going to be a lot of changes at the Ministry in the next few weeks and months …”

Eddie looked at him askance. “You said something like that the other day at lunch. I wasn’t quite sure if you were serious.”

“I was”, Lupin assured him.

“Are you talking about that Crowley guy?” Harry asked.

“Who’s ‘that Crowley guy’?” Hermione wanted to know.

“A very wealthy man with his mind set on entering politics”, Remus explained, “and pursuing a career with the Ministry.”

“But isn’t that good? Didn’t you just complain about lack of staff?”

Remus gave Hermione a crooked grin. Then he told his three young listeners the story of his encounter with Aeneas Crowley and the formidable Magrathea. He reported on the meeting in as much detail as he could remember. When he was finished, Harry and Hermione looked a bit shocked.

Hermione was the first to voice what both of them thought. “Don’t they believe us anymore??”

“It certainly has nothing to do with that”, Remus replied quietly. “I’m sure they believe that what you told the wizarding world was what you thought to be true.”

“What we _thought_ to be true?”

“Surely truth is a fickle thing, Hermione. It is in the eyes of the observer.”

“No, it isn’t!” said the girl fiercely. “There are objective facts, witness reports, testimonies …”

“Given by subjective people”, Harry murmured. “Such as you and me.”

“But …”

“It’s what I told you before”, Remus interrupted, “the root of it is fear. At first, everybody was just glad that the war was over. You two and Ron were their heroes and they wanted to be done with the past. Now they are slowly realizing that, although the big threat has been eliminated, not all is as peachy as they would like it to be. Plus, there are individuals who see their chance not only to form the future, but to control it, as well. The new terms on which the wizarding world is to be operated is being negotiated as we speak. And we are kidding ourselves believing that only because we played a certain role in past events, we are inevitably the guardians of the future.”

“Do you think that Crowley guy is going to have anything to say at the Ministry?” Eddie asked. “After all, he’s a complete newbie …”

“That’s exactly what I asked Kingsley”, Remus replied with a sigh. “I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that. Aeneas Crowley has a lot of contacts and friends at the Ministry already, and not only the likes of Eusebius Marlin. There’s Ansgard Periwinkle, as I just told you, a dinosaur in the Wizengamot. In the meantime, I have found out that he is also very well acquainted with the Fawley family, who have a lot of members working either with the Ministry or in other influential positions. Owen Fawley is Crowley’s age and has been active in the Wizengamot for at least three decades. With such powerful friends in the Wizarding Council, it may only be a matter of time until Crowley takes a seat there himself. I recently found out that he studied Magical Law before he inherited his father’s business and pursued that, so one might say that he is made for the post. – By the way … does the name Barnabas Cuffe mean anything to you guys?”

“Of course”, said Hermione, “he’s the owner of The Daily Prophet. And one of the richest wizards in this country. Why are you asking?”

Remus frowned. “Because he’s Aeneas Crowley’s father-in-law. Another influential connection …”

“What does Kingsley think about this Crowley guy?” Harry wondered.

“He shares my reservations and doesn’t like the man’s views much.”

“Why did he employ him, then?”

“As you know, it’s not exclusively for him to decide. Kingsley is a politician, which means that it’s his job to juggle interests, make compromises, bow to other opinions if these get the upper hand. It is also his job to generate money, or at least to supervise the work of the Financial Department. At the time being, he can hardly refuse the cooperation of a man who will bring a lot of capital to the wizarding community.”

“The way you described this Crowley character, he comes over like a manipulative arsehole”, remarked Eddie.

“We are all manipulative, in our respective ways”, Remus said evenly. “Yet, I am watching this development with worry. If Crowley gets into the Wizengamot and makes friends … things might change.”

“Are you thinking of Snape here?” Eddie made a face.

“Not only of him. – The prosecution of ex Death Eaters might be enhanced. Which is only too right where real criminals are concerned, and it will get them a lot of praise from the public. However, if the pursuing of Death Eaters is intensified, so will the punishment of collaborators or people who have been forced to collaborate. Right now, we’re being lenient on this because it was the common understanding immediately after the war that it would only create a climate of mistrust again, in which people will be starting to accuse each other or use the situation for their personal vendettas. ‘Get the hawks’, we said, ‘but otherwise let sleeping dogs lie.’ – Remember, Harry?”

Harry Potter nodded thoughtfully. He had been present in almost all those closed meetings in the Ministry of Magic immediately after the war. Since he had been the hero of the moment, anything else would have been unthinkable. During the last weeks, however, he had observed – and not exclusively with pity – how that had changed, how it had more and more often been put to him that he should “learn something proper, first”, and then get into politics. Which he had no intention of doing. His main objective was still to become an Auror. Yet, he had learnt a lot about how quickly public opinion could change, in fact, it was an experience that he had made very often in recent years. History was rewriting itself at any given moment and even his own testimony might have, over a short time, lost some of its value.

“Do you think Snape’s going to get into trouble?” he asked.

“I don’t know”, said Remus, however, the frown on his worn-out face indicated that he didn’t discount the possibility.

“They used to call him a hero”, Hermione remarked.

“And many still do”, Remus admitted. “However, as you know, he is both an unlikely and unlikable hero, especially to those who know him. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if some people just refused to believe that this sour and sarcastic son-of-a-bitch actually saved a considerable portion of our collective arse. That these people’s voices were hardly heard during the initial jubilation after the war doesn’t mean that they didn’t exist. Also, as you know, Severus gave no help to the Ministry immediately after the war. That may have been a grave mistake, one he might come to regret.”

“Plus, he _does_ have this past”, said Eddie, folding his arms over his chest.

“He’s more than made up for it”, Hermione claimed. “I will never forget how he died in the Shrieking Shack … that snake … all the blood …” She shuddered. Harry looked at her from under his fringe of black hair, agreeing with the eyes. Everyone who had seen it would have felt at least an ounce of pity for Snape, Harry thought. Then again, Ron had seen it, too, and Snape was still essentially ‘the greasy git’ to him.

“But he didn’t die.” This was from Eddie. His arms were still akimbo and he looked at the rest of them challengingly.

“What’s your point?” Hermione stared straight at him.

“He should have been dead. Yet, he survived. And there’s no explanation for it. Don’t get me wrong, but you can see how some people might find this … a bit odd.”

Silence ensued, during which all four of them gazed distractedly into their respective glasses of butterbeer. They were still uncomfortably quiet after almost a minute had passed, and in civilized company this is a sure indication that a change of subject is overdue. Harry was the first one to sense the need.

“By the way”, he said, looking at Hermione, “Elena Horwath is going to teach me and Ginny how to dance.” The mental leap from Snape to Elena was not exactly original, but it lightened up the mood.

“Really?” Hermione looked surprised. “I didn’t know you’re into dancing …”

“I’m not”, Harry made a face. “She offered because I took her to the Ministry a few times for her Apparition classes and … well, it’s really Ginny who wants to do it. She’s all excited about it.”

“Is Elena still studying with Snape?”

“As far as I know.”

“Wonder how she can bear it”, said Eddie with a lopsided smile.

“Oh, Snape knows a lot”, explained Hermione. “Once you get over how he is, he’s an effective teacher.”

“And he likes her”, Harry told her with a smile.

“He does?” A mischievous grin lightened up her face.

“You bet. Remus thinks the same.” Harry glanced at the older man. “That day they came to the Ministry?” He put on an exaggerated scowl. “ _’Potter! Don’t let her see this!’_ – Remember?”

Remus nodded and chuckled amusedly. Eddie followed the exchange with raised eyebrows.

“Maybe Elena is going to teach Snape how to dance”, Hermione suggested mirthfully. “You know what, we could make this a bet! Anyone of you who thinks that she will, I’ll hold against for three rounds of butterbeer!”

However, there were no takers.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	28. Halloween

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why Professor Snape hates Halloween ... (not so difficult to guess, though, is it?)

**Halloween**

 

“Ouch! That was my foot!”

“Sorry, sweetie, but it’s not really my fault, you had your foot in the wrong place …”

“That’s nonsense, _you_ trampled on it!”

“But didn’t you hear what Elena said? It’s not the fault of the one that steps on the foot, but …”

“Yeah, in this case it _was_!”

“Come on, Harry, just admit that you missed the count – again!”

“No, I …”

“It’s one-two-cha-cha-cha, not one-two-three …”

Elena loudly cleared her throat, stifling a laugh. She pushed herself away from the stereo and came towards the arguing couple in the middle of the ballroom. Harry looked confused, while Ginny had a smug face on.

“You’re both right”, Elena explained, “and wrong. – It’s true, Harry, you have to count better. And you, Ginny, you turn too early, on the last ‘cha’, but you should really turn on the count of five and six …”

“See?” Harry made a face at his girlfriend. “You turn too early!”

“You have to help her, Harry”, Elena butted in quickly before Ginny could issue a tart reply, “take the lead, okay? Let me show you …”

She had Harry assume the proper position and led him through the counts, showed him the exact moment in which to push his partner into the spin and how to do it. Then she did the same for Ginny which was a little easier. Girls were natural dancers. Boys only did it to please them.

“That’s going to be one hell of a Halloween party”, Ginny remarked amusedly.

“Don’t remind me”, Harry murmured darkly.

“You’ll be alright”, Elena assured them, “just go with the flow – and with the music – don’t take things too seriously and everything will be fine. Dancing is about improvising, about filling gaps as elegantly as possible.” She checked the clock. “We still have time to repeat the disco fox …”

Dancing lessons were her way of compensating her wizarding acquaintances for Apparating her to and from the Ministry for her class. However, Remus Lupin felt too old to take up dancing again and although she was sure that Eddie Hincks would have loved it, she didn’t feel like asking him in the first place, thus concentrating on Harry instead. Of course, he hadn’t been too enthusiastic about the idea, but his girlfriend had. As far as dancing was concerned, she was the one with the talent.

Half an hour later, they were standing on the street outside, bidding one another good-bye.

“That was really great!” said Ginny, shaking Elena’s hand with a broad smile. “We’ve got to do this again.”

“Do we?” sighed Harry.

“It going to be easier once you get the hang of it”, Elena encouraged him.

“Same thing with Apparition.” Harry winked at her.

“Don’t talk about it”, she hissed, suddenly sensitive. She still sucked at Apparition. This morning, she had managed to leave an entire leg behind. In spite of what her instructor had said about splinching being ‘uncomfortable, but not painful’, it had itched like a mother and she still felt it although her leg had been safely reattached.

“My brother left behind an eyebrow when he took the test”, Ginny chirped, “but he passed anyway.”

“That’s … good to hear.” Elena produced a scowl that would have made Severus Snape proud. A change of subject was desperately needed. “What are you two up to tonight?”

“Our friend Neville is throwing a big party at his home”, Ginny informed her. “His folks are out of the way, so …”

“You could come if you like”, Harry chimed in. “Your first party in the wizarding world, could be quite a laugh.”

“We’ll come and get you”, Ginny offered. “There’s one condition, though: don’t bring Snape.”

Although the comment hurt her a little, Elena couldn’t help grinning. “I hardly think that would be up his street …”

“Think about it. Give us an owl if you want to come.”

“I will. Think about it, I mean. However, I’ve got a lot of work to catch up to for uni …”

“It’s Halloween and you’re a witch!”

Elena smiled at Ginny. Maybe she was right. Going to a Halloween party might take her mind off all the things that weren’t going so well lately. Apparition, for instance. Her chaotic and inconclusive dreams that hardly allowed her to get the sleep she needed. The constant presence – at the back of her mind – of some undefined threat. And on top of that, her feelings for her surly teacher that made her happy and sad at the same time, and overly sensitive at that.

“I’ll be in touch”, she promised. “Actually, a party might be exactly what I need …”

 

She was on her way to the bus stop when a loud honking made her turn around sharply. Elena immediately recognized the shiny Mercedes that was approaching the curb and she waved to the driver.

Pawel Komarek wound down the side window and beamed out at her. She hadn’t seen him in a while because he had been to the continent on business as he had explained to her during their last lesson. Although she hadn’t missed him, she was quite glad to see him.

“Where to, young lady?” he hollered out of the car.

“Home”, she replied with a shrug.

“Home?” He made an exaggeratedly shocked face. “On this day of all days?”

She laughed. “Why, it’s only Halloween. An Anglo-American construct, not unlike Valentine’s Day, to make unsuspecting consumers spend loads of money on masks and sweets and crap …”

“Ordinarily I’d agree, but lately I’ve been thinking that maybe we’re not integrating ourselves well enough.”

“Really? What happened to ‘tea-pissing island monkeys’ that we mustn’t allow to spoil our Continental sophistication?”

Komarek made a face. “Well, I guess, if we let them spoil it at all, Halloween’s the time!” He beckoned to her. “Come inside. There’s no need to ride on that grimy bus. You’ll only get raped.”

She rolled her eyes, but started to walk around the car towards the passenger seat. “Where do you want to go?”

“The pub? Watch the island monkeys being merry and feel bloody sophisticated in contrast?”

“Spot on”, she laughed and got into the car.

 

Two hours later, she found that somehow she had become quite tipsy. She wasn’t able anymore to count the glasses of Merlot that she had downed in that packed raucous pub Komarek had chosen – she only knew that he kept them coming generously. All around them were people in masks and weird costumes and everything reminded her very much of carnival in her home country, even if it was squeezed into one single day. There were witches, vampires and devils all over, but it was still very much the Muggle world and for the first time in weeks, Elena felt completely safe, warm and cosy.

There was something to be said for pubs. They were enchanted places. There was something in every Englishman equally present in the city guy as in a farmer that came out best in pubs. Where she came from, people were far too busy appearing intellectual, even when drinking. Here, pubs were for bantering, people were open and keen on talking to strangers.

Sweating bodies reeking of alcohol were pressing against Komarek and her from all sides, and after a while they were both involved in a lively conversation with a couple from France. Komarek’s French proved to be quite good, though Elena missed part of the conversation. Too many times, her mind started to wander. What would Snape be doing tonight? Surely, Hogwarts would be mayhem right now and she was pretty sure that he hated every bit of keeping prank-playing, giddy teenagers in line. She had to smile at the thought of him walking up and down corridors, scowling and swearing.

“Are you a couple?”

The French girl looked at her and Komarek speculatively, shaking her index finger back and fro between them.

“No such luck”, Pawel Komarek replied with a wink to Elena. “She’s in love with another, but she won’t tell me about him.”

Elena gave him a dirty look and scoffed.

“A pity”, chirped the girl called Claudine, “you look good together. – What happened to your arm, anyway? Did you hurt yourself?”

Elena looked at her wide eyes in surprise before she realized what the girl meant. Due to the heat in the pub, she had rolled up the sleeves of her blouse a bit and now the leather sheath that held her wand was visible.

“Typist’s cramp”, she explained with a crooked smile, “I’m writing a paper for uni …”

Claudine smiled politely and turned back to Pawel whom she appeared to find far more interesting. Elena didn’t mind. She was a little worried for her wand. As soon as she felt unobserved by Komarek and the French couple, she pulled it out of the sheath and stuck it in the back pocket of her jeans, hiding it under the hem of her blouse. That should do it. Probably she was exaggerating – after all, the French girl had swallowed her lie. Maybe Snape’s constant admonitions for care had rubbed off on her. As soon as she had dealt with her wand, she felt better and was ready to continue enjoying the evening.

Her field of vision was slightly blurred at the edges. She had to watch it, her alcohol tolerance wasn’t as good as it once had been. However, as the evening bore on she realized that she had to just give herself to it, allow herself to be swept away by the merriment, the laughing faces, the ever-changing partners of conversation that popped up in front of her eyes, smiling, asking, winking. She realized with surprise how beautiful and satisfying the Muggle world could be and particularly how safe and innocent it was. So she went along with it. Komarek was at her side, grinning confidently. He was drinking coke by now, but kept ordering Merlot for her. His whole presence spelt ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be home safely by midnight’ and she trusted him. And why shouldn’t she? After all, he was just an inconsequential Muggle …

 

* * *

 

About the same time, Severus Snape was patrolling the lengthy corridors of Hogwarts, and in doing so he looked very much as Elena had pictured him in her mind. His hands were clasped behind his back, his strides were long and purposeful and a pair of cold black eyes peered out between strands of black greasy hair as he scowled at the merry band of mischief-makers that had taken over the castle. The occasional bang of a firecracker didn’t even make him jump anymore. However, he didn’t miss out on any opportunity of yelling at students and blasting snogging couples apart. As much as he hated Halloween, it at least provided him with some excuse to let off steam and he took ample advantage of it.

In a way, however, he wasn’t really present. He never was on Halloween. It was the holiday that regularly transported Snape back into his past, to another Halloween seventeen years ago when his life had exploded and the only person that had made it worth living had died at the hands of a man he had admired and looked up to. This event had changed everything and more profoundly so than anyone could know because Severus Snape didn’t make a habit of letting others see what was in his heart. So hardly anyone realized that since then he’d been inhabiting not a life, but the rubbles of it. He had no wish to talk about it to anyone. However, every year on Halloween when the past came back to him, lurking behind every grinning face cut out of a pumpkin, in every bang of a sparkling firecracker, he wondered whether talking about it might change anything and might actually spare him from living through the same hell every year, without fail.

But who could he have talked to about it? Dumbledore was gone and Snape had missed the opportunity during his lifetime. Elena came to his mind, and as per usual lately he felt a twinge, a yearning for her presence. But could he have told her, would he have? Probably not. Looking at it realistically, he had to admit that his story might scare her away. If he wanted to tell anyone, it would have to be himself.

So how had he been on that night, seventeen years ago? Bloody miserable, there had been no other word for it (and yet, he hadn’t known anything about real misery at that point). Consumed with worry for Lily because the Dark Lord had refused his plea to spare her, hoping madly that Dumbledore would keep his promise to protect her (and her husband and child, too, if he had to), not able to sleep, full to the brim with guilt and anxiety. Not to mention doubt. And above all, he longed to see Lily, talk to her, if only for a few minutes.

In the years before, he’d only seen snippets of her, stolen moments observed from afar when he’d stalked up on her, like the creepy guy everyone thought he was. Every time, she’d been with Potter, of course. Except for one occasion, when he’d spotted her in Diagon Alley, pushing a pram and obviously shopping for baby clothes. It had been a rare occasion. Only years later had he learnt that at this point, she and Potter had already been hiding at Godric’s Hollow and rarely came out of their safe haven. Probably, she had needed a change of scenery, or a magical toy for the child that she couldn’t have gotten anywhere else.

He’d made up his mind to talk to her then. Just walk over, like the confident adult he wanted everyone to believe he had become, greet her and congratulate her on the baby. The latter would have been a lie, of course, he hadn’t cared a rat’s arse about the brat, but he knew that he would have had to say something nice to have at least half a chance that she’d let him talk to her. She would have, of that he’d been certain, because she had a kind heart, that was a simple fact. And although he had always wondered how she managed to be like that, how people didn’t make her angry with their arrogance and ignorance and merry bravado, he’d always deeply admired this quality in her – sensing that it made her life much easier than his was. He would have been fully prepared to impose her on himself as a moral standard, if only she had let him. She would, however, let him talk to her if only he said the words he’d rehearsed in his mind.

There had been something to say. Not about guilt, exactly, he wouldn’t have gone that far, and certainly not about his feelings for her. But about doubts. Yes, this word he would have used – without hesitation, in fact – if he’d had the chance of speaking to her. Doubts whether he was going into the right direction and whether it wasn’t too late to change course. For such a talk he would have needed her, the only person who had ever wanted to be his friend, no more.

He would have had to mention the McKinnons, though. The raid in which he’d been forced to take part. Not his usual cup of tea, no, he’d been more the guy for the background, whispering into the Dark Lord’s generously inclined ear and whipping up poisons that became so impersonal once they had left his hands that he could persuade himself that their further destiny had nothing to do with him. However, by Halloween of 1981, he hadn’t been able to persuade himself so readily any longer, not after that night at the McKinnon’s.

Had it been this detail which had kept him from talking to her on that day in Diagon Alley? Had he been too cowardly to own up to his mistakes? No, he remembered now. Someone had come up and talked to her, some Hufflepuff witch from their year, and he’d made himself conspicuous on the busy street hiding behind a shop pillar so that he’d had to take off. When he’d walked away, staring at Halloween decoration in a shop window, there had been a sense of foreboding. It had been the last time he’d seen Lily.

When he thought back to that Halloween seventeen years ago, he saw pumpkins and grinning masks everywhere. And in a kind of reverse process, when he saw pumpkins and sneering masks, the past came back and with it the fear, the constant edge. It was his biscuit dunked in herbal tea, but it only ever took him to one place.

The days and weeks after that Halloween, however, he didn’t remember. He had erased them out of his mind. They were the ever-sore wound that must not be touched since it was beyond healing. They were also the reason why he was close to no one because in order to be close, he would have had to tell and that was completely beyond his imagination. Even the idea of telling Elena was preposterous. What would she think? Wouldn’t she see him with completely different eyes? He couldn’t risk that.

All the same, he found himself thinking constantly about her tonight. She was the only thing that kept him from reliving that Halloween. When he thought of her face, of her eyes reminiscent of a cool and soothing forest, he breathed a little easier. He wondered what she was doing right now. Impatiently, he checked the clock again, willing the merriment reigning Hogwarts to be finally over and done with so that he could take off. Pay her a visit? He would have to think up some pretext, maybe some organisational issue. A number of ideas sprang up in his eager mind and with every one of them, his need to see her increased and tore at him. At the same time, he knew that once he stood in front of her, his mind would go blank. All the excuses would seem ridiculous and puny then, his throat would go dry and he would manage nothing beyond his stupid obsessive stare which would make her blush in turn.

Apart from all that, he greatly doubted that she would be at home. It was Halloween, after all, her first Halloween as a witch. Someone had surely pointed that out to her and told her that it was her witchy duty to celebrate the day. The Hincks boy, most probably. The thought of Elena being with him made Severus’ bile rise. Impulsively, he pointed his wand at a firecracker that a bunch of second years were about to light in front of a bathroom, turning the ensuing sparkle into a sorry glimmer. The second years stared at him mutinously, but when they saw his face, their eyes became wide and they scurried apart in terror.

Alone in the corridor, Snape made up his mind to inspect the vaults, make sure that no one would be doing anything funny down there. As soon as the plan had formed in his mind, his step became very quiet and he hurried down the stairs almost like a ghost gliding in the shadows.

He was intrigued, but not exactly surprised to find that the outer seal he had installed had been broken once more. “Bloody little buggers”, he swore under his breath. His wand at the ready, Snape proceeded down the crooked corridor, only to stop in his tracks as he approached the cut-out room that held the portkeys. He heard whispers from the room, three voices at least, seemingly involved in a dispute. Eagerly, he strained his ears.

“… we’re to keep it open”, someone hissed. “No matter what happens, they must stay intact.”

“Why haven’t they destroyed them, anyway?” someone asked. It was a girl’s voice.

“Because those idiot’s don’t know how”, the first voice replied. “There’s a kind of Impervious on them. As long as they can’t figure that out, they won’t be able to destroy the portkeys.”

“They could simply explode the chamber”, the girl’s voice said reasonably.

A rough cackle responded to that. “They won’t. They are far too nosy for that. They will want to work out what the portkeys are here for …” The voice, of that Snape was almost certain, belonged to Arcadius ‘Archie’ Selwyn.

“So the only thing we need to do …”

“… is to make sure that they work. My uncle told me how.”

“Your precious uncle …”

“Shut up, Alice! You can think of him what you want, but at least he’s loyal. Not like that fucking traitor that’s our so-called Head of House!”

“Your uncle didn’t exactly get his hands dirty during the war”, another male voice chimed in, “more like stayed on the side lines, seeing which way the wind was blowing …”

“And now he’s still standing and out of jail!” Archie Selwyn held against. “Believe me, my uncle’s alright. He knows what’s important. And he said that Snape’s going to regret what he did, the only thing that we need to do is _this_!”

A silence of held breaths fell and a second later, Snape heard Archie Selwyn intone an incantation. “ _Activate_!”

Silence again.

“That was it?” The girl’s voice again, chilly with scepticism.

“That’s it. The rest _he_ will take care of …”

“And who the hell’s _he_?”

“I told you. I don’t know. No one knows, not even my uncle.”

“The mystery man. What if he doesn’t exist?”

“He _does_ exist!”

“What makes you so sure?”

“I’ve seen his letters. Every promise he’s made so far has come true. He is to be trusted. – And most of all, he knows how to get to Snape.”

“How?”

“I told you that, too. He knows that woman.”

“Oh yeah, the mystery girl.” The girl’s voice was laden with irony. “You’re sure she exists? What woman in her right mind would take up with Snape?”

“Yes, she _does_ exist and she’s a Mudblood. That’s why Snape is hiding her, ‘cause he’s ashamed. _The man_ , however, says he can get to her anytime because she trusts him, she’s as stupid as any Muggle, see, and when he grabs her, Snape will come …”

In his hiding spot, Snape froze. There was a strange prickle on his skin, hot and cold at the same time. He realized that he had to act quickly. Grabbing his wand tightly, he stepped out from the crevice in which he’d been hiding.

“Having fun, Ladies and Gentlemen?” he drawled, surveying the assembly with one of the cold looks that he had down to a t.

Three pairs of eyes stared at him, huge and with all the bravado suddenly conspicuously missing.

“It’s nothing, sir”, Alice Nott breathed, trying a smile. “Just fooling around.”

“Nice try, Ms Nott, but I have heard too much to believe you …”

“It doesn’t matter what you believe”, Archie Selwyn broke in, stepping forward. He had a swagger in his hips and a sneer on this face. “It’s too late, anyway.” With a cheek that almost stumped Snape, the Selwyn boy came up to him until he could smell the boy’s breath, and he grinned maliciously. “Halloween’s the day. That’s a very special day for you, isn’t it?”

“And from the way it looks, this is going to be a very special day for you, as well”, Snape replied, gazing coolly into the young trouble-maker’s eyes. “Only maybe not in the way you might think.”

“You can’t intimidate me, Professor”, Selwyn said with a vicious grin.

“Feeling important, don’t you, Mr Selwyn? Almost like the head of your family now that your father has met such an unfortunate demise …”

“Don’t talk about my father!” the lad broke in and hatred flickered in his eyes. “You have betrayed him just as much as you have betrayed the Dark Lord …”

“… who has in turn betrayed every one of us! Don’t you all see that? He led your families on a crooked path, promised them more than he could live up to, and where did it get you?”

“It just _might_ have gotten us to the top if it hadn’t been for traitors such as you!”

Snape tilted his head. “Is that _you_ talking, Mr Selwyn? Or is it your father? Or somebody else entirely?”

A sly sneer appeared on Archie Selwyns face. “I won’t give you any names, Professor! You could put a _Cruciatus_ on me and still I wouldn’t!”

“You’re being dramatic, Mr Selwyn”, Snape said tiredly. “As I can see, you shared what you know …” His eyes wandered over to Marvin Goyle and Alice Nott who were standing right behind Selwyn with sullen faces.

“D’you think I’d tell these idiots more than they have to know?” Selwyn was speaking impulsively now, hardly knowing what he was saying. He didn’t even realize how his friends turned their stares towards him, suddenly looking quite pissed-off.

Snape realized that there was nothing to gain from this banter and that time didn’t slow down. He still had his wand in his right hand, hidden in the folds of his robes. He rose it lazily.

Instantly, Selwyn drew his, holding it up defensively.

“You two, watch my back!” He commanded over his shoulder.

Marvin Goyle, as stupid as the rest of his family, drew his wand faithfully. Alice Nott, however, didn’t move, but stared uncertainly at Snape.

Almost unperceptively, Snape tapped his wand and muttered “ _Serpensortia Magna_ ”. Did those dunderheads really believe that he would battle them, even perform a _Cruciatus_ on Selwyn? He had long ago learnt that the best way to fight and win was by surprise, and in order to scare a bunch of recalcitrant teenagers, a gigantic snake would do nicely. As it shot out of his wand, materializing as if solid, reeling high up and baring its fangs, their faces turned a chalky white. The snake might be the emblem of Slytherin House, they might all have heard and loved stories of Nagini, Voldemort’s pet snake, but being confronted with one – a huge one at that – petrified them just long enough for Snape to perform a Binding Curse that tied Archie Selwyn into a neat little package. While doing so, however, Snape noticed an interesting detail. The appearance of the snake upset him. The moment he saw it, his nostrils filled with snake stink – imaginary, because conjured-up snakes didn’t smell – and the hairs on his body stood on edge. His stomach churned and for a brief moment, he feared that it would turn inside out. It took all the self-control he was capable of – luckily, there was quite a lot of it – not to break out into a cold sweat and panic, and to successfully finish the Binding Curse.

With a slightly shaking hand, he let the snake vanish and quickly regained his countenance. With a scowl, he turned towards Goyle and Nott.

“Common room, both of you”, he commanded with a hoarse voice. “Your Halloween is over.”

They were completely ready to admit defeat and traipsed out of the vault. Only Alice Nott remembered her pure-blood pride and turned towards Snape on the way out.

“You won’t … do anything to him, will you?” Her eyes were huge.

“Of course not”, Snape snarled. “He is a student. I _will_ make him talk, though.”

“He won’t tell”, she explained adamantly. “He’d rather die than tell.”

Snape sighed. How many Potions lessons did they need to remember that there was a thing called Veritaserum and that it actually worked? “We’ll see about that, Ms Nott. Now go. And the next person from your house that I meet down here will be expelled. Take my word for it.”

* * *

 

The heat in the pub became oppressive. The cosy little place was so packed that Elena couldn’t see to the windows to check how late it was. Why, it must be dark by now. If she wanted to go to that Halloween party Ginny and Harry had invited her to, it was surely much too late now. She was a little miffed with herself. How could she have let Komarek talk her into this when really she had so many other things to do?

But then, she knew exactly why. As on previous occasions, his charm and attention had been a balm to her sore soul, something she desperately needed or told herself she needed. She remembered something Remus Lupin had said to her a while ago. ‘You like to be admired, don’t you?’ Then, she had fibbed and changed the topic. Now, however, she had to admit that he had been right. She was vain. She basked in the light of admiring eyes. It was this weakness – not Komarek’s charm per se – that had led her into this pub where she was now standing, sweating, her head spinning with too much alcohol.

What had she been thinking? She really hated packed places such as this, the pushing and shoving, the shrill laughter so close to her ears. And then there was this guy behind her whose hand had at least three times grazed her behind so that it was hard to convince herself that it had merely been an accident.

Pawel Komarek was still involved in a conversation with Claudine and Hervé. He had given up on the coke a while ago, switching it for lager, and his cheeks were flushed. His scallywag grin seemed almost like a mask now and Elena didn’t like what the booze and the raucous atmosphere did to him. She had never realized it before – or hadn’t wanted to realize – that he was really quite arrogant. He was leaning against a wooden post, his hair fashionably mussed up and his eyelids half-closed. His words came out in a drawled way and although on the one hand Elena had the impression that he flirted with Claudine – to piss of either her or Hervé – on the other hand she detected something in his eyes when he looked at the French girl that closely resembled contempt.

Elena sighed. How to get out of this, alone of all things? She had no doubt that Pawel would immediately volunteer to take her home if she wanted it, but that was exactly the point: she didn’t want him with her. That feeling of aversion had become quite strong over the course of the last half hour and Elena wondered whether she was exaggerating, whether it was the Merlot talking or a deeper kind of intuition. She reminded herself of her recent mood swings. Maybe it wasn’t Pawel’s fault, but hers. Still, she wanted desperately to go home.

In that moment, on top of it all, rough fingers dug themselves into the flesh of her behind.

“For Fuck’s sake!” she exploded, wheeling around on the guy who was standing behind her, drinking and laughing with his cronies. He was large, with an almost shaven head and unhealthily blotched skin. “Will you stop already?”

“What’s your problem, sweetheart?” the guy asked back, raising a pierced eyebrow. “You wanna calm down a little, it’s Halloween …”

“And even if it was Christmas I wouldn’t let you grab my ass like that!” she hissed back, eyes narrow and furious.

The cronies started laughing and whooping while the large guy stared down at her with a lopsided grin. “You must be mistaken, honey, I mean, the place is packed …”

“Just let off!”

“Is there a problem?”

Pawel Komarek was standing right behind her and she felt relief. His presence in her back felt solid and reliable.

Elena turned to him impulsively. “I’ve had enough. Let’s go, shall we?”

However, Komarek didn’t appear to have heard her. He stared at the large guy and his eyes were glittering strangely. “What’s the matter?” he asked in a very quiet voice.

“Nothing”, she said and grabbed Pawel’s arm. “Let’s just go home …”

“You shouldn’t leave your girl alone like this, mate”, the large guy said, still with his impertinent grin, “or she’ll attract all sorts of attention …”

“Oh, yeah?” Komarek’s reply came like a whip. “From big blundering arseholes such as you?”

“Watch it, mate”, the much larger man shot back.”

“I’m not your _mate_ ”, was Pawel’s reply, rendered with a coldness that chilled Elena to the core. However, it wasn’t merely the coldness, it was offensive contempt that made his voice reverberate. Her inner alarm went off when the large guy scowled back, but surprisingly her worry was not for the smaller Komarek who was, after all, quite well trained and toned.

She nudged her companion in the side. “Let’s go”, she repeated insistently.

“You wanna take this outside?” the large guy offered and his grin became broader, he was that sure of himself.

“I wouldn’t be seen dead in the street with scum like you”, was Komarek’s even reply and again, the coldness in his voice was so blatant that Elena saw the large guy flinch.

“Scum, eh?”

The cronies were glowering now, staring at Komarek and Elena with malicious intent. They would have the large guy’s back, there was no doubt about it.

Elena turned around and exchanged glances with Claudine who nodded and crept towards the bar to get someone from the staff to smother the crisis. However, in that moment something utterly strange happened which made Elena’s jaw drop and stare.

Pawel Komarek had begun to speak again. His voice was completely calm and his enunciation perfect. It was obvious that he was not at all scared, that he even enjoyed the situation up to a point and felt by no means inferior.

“You heard me right, _mate_ ”, he said, “I just called you scum. And I will do it again, because that’s exactly what you are, you and the rest of your kind. You are nothing but ants, born to do the dirty work on this planet, and you don’t even have the slightest idea of what is really going on. You may have heard of the _Uebermensch_ , but you have no idea that he exists, has existed for thousands of years, leaving _you_ in the dark because the ugly truth cannot be told to the likes of you, namely that you’re nothing but dirt on the shoes of the universe, not able to do anything, not capable of any consequence, dead material, destined to be born in squalor and die much in the same way …”

Elena touched Pawel’s arm. Her throat was dry. It wasn’t so much the very words that Komarek had spoken, but how he had spoken them, staring the large guy in the eyes and conveying perfectly just what he thought of him, how much he looked down on him. It wasn’t even hatred, it was something infinitely worse than that. Hatred, after all, was often a twisted form of love and the opposite of indifference. What Komarek exuded was, however, more and at the same time less than hatred. While he’d spoken, it had been obvious that he held no regard for the mere existence of the large guy whatsoever. And the large guy understood this very well. He stood there, looking stupid and didn’t know what to say.

“What’s it, Jims”, roared one of the cronies, “won’t you fuck up his face now?”

But the large guy called Jims wasn’t able to move. It was as if his body was locked in shock. His eyes started blinking and he continued to gaze at Komarek while the blood mounted in his face. The smaller man stood his ground and gazed coolly at Jims, contempt emanating from him in waves so strong that even Elena could feel them.

Suddenly, the guy called Jims turned around and pushed through the crowd towards the door. The cronies stayed behind a few seconds, glowering at Komarek who turned the same cool gaze on them, raising his brows a little. One after the other, their faces fell. It was a most peculiar sight and Elena struggled for the right words that would describe this situation. It was … yes, it looked as if Pawel Komarek had put a _spell_ on the large guy and his friends. A spell that made them tongue-tied and seemed to trick them into believing that the other man was the physically stronger one.

A jolt went through Elena. It was sudden and white-hot. She seemed to hear the ripping of a curtain and stared at Pawel Komarek, a horrible realization bubbling up in her.

However, when he turned his eyes on her, they were calm and there was an amused twinkle in the corners of them.

“Well, I guess that’s sorted”, he said with an amiable smile. “I’m glad I did that management course a couple of years ago, dealing with bullies …”

Elena didn’t reply. She continued to gape at him, ignored his smile, his scallywag wink. Inside her, pieces of puzzle were skidding towards each other, slowly putting themselves together …

 

* * *

 

Half an hour later, Archie Selwyn – tied securely to a chair – was sitting in Snape’s office, looking dazed and immensely stupid. He was also singing like a bird.

“I dunno … I dunno …” He stuttered and was close to drooling out of his snotty pure-blood mouth.

“What don’t you know, Mr Selwyn? You’ll have to articulate a little better.”

“The portkeys … I dunno …”

“You don’t know where they lead to”, Snape concluded. “You don’t know that much at all, do you?”

Sadly and infested by an unprecedented bout of honesty, Selwyn shook his head. “No.”

“What about the portkey of the lightning-struck tower?” Snape asked smoothly, stretching in his chair.

Once again, Selwyn’s face became sly. “Oh. That’s _his_.”

“His”, Snape repeated, leaning towards the boy. “The author of the blood parchments?”

A confused look answered him. “Blood parchments?”

“I mean the man who is after me”, Snape clarified impatiently.

“He’s clever”, said the boy with a fervent nod.

“What’s his name?”

“I dunno. He’s using a false one.”

“A false name? Which one?”

“I dunno … something foreign …”

“Does your uncle know him?”

A shake of the head. “Not really. It’s a family connection, through my aunt.”

“What is your uncle doing for him?”

“Just helping a little. – I mean … I’m the one who’s helping …”

“Doing what?”

“Keeping that portkey open.”

“That’s what you’ve been doing? Nothing else?”

Another shake of the head, accompanied by a dejected look.

“And you are to keep the portkey open why? So that he can get here every time he likes?”

“I guess. If that was his plan.”

“But you know neither his plan nor his name?”

“No.”

Snape sighed, but it was just a front to keep his nervousness at bay. What a bloody waste of time! “What the hell _do_ you know?”

Again, the boy’s face assumed a sly expression. “He can fool everybody. All the wizards. All the Muggles.”

“He can fool wizards and Muggles? Why?”

Now Archie Selwyn cackled and there was admiration in it. “You know, he totally passes as a Muggle. He can switch at will, you see.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me more”, he commanded quietly.

“He’s brilliant”, Selwyn explained and his smile was almost enchanted. “He is a wizard, like you and me. But if he wants to, he changes his clothes, he talks in their language, he knows about that Muggle-business-blah-blah – they’d never know the difference, he is that good! He can chat up Muggle chicks as if he were one of them … he can drive one of them cars …”

Snape shot up from his seat. If possible, his pale face had blanched even more. His insides were swarming now, as if infested by hysteric maggots.

All of a sudden, things had started to fall into place. The thin but opaque veil that he had so keenly felt when he’d visited the lighthouse was suddenly ripped apart and he saw what lay behind, what had always been there, only that he’d been too daft to see it. With the ripping of the veil came a déjà-vu that transported him right back along a timeline, to a Halloween seventeen years ago, but this time the name constantly on his mind, hammered into him by fear and guilt, was not Lily.

Elena.

He had to leave, right now. See where she was. Make sure that she was safe.

With flying fingers, he threw over his cloak and made to leave. In the process, he completely forgot about Archie Selwyn who was sitting in his chair, high on Veritaserum, staring stupidly. Didn’t really matter, anyway, as long as the boy was tied up in his office, he wouldn’t do any harm. Right now, Snape had more important things to do.

‘It’s going to be alright’, he told himself. ‘It won’t be tonight of all nights. Such things don’t happen twice …’

But deep down, he already knew that he was wrong.

 

* * *

 

She pushed through the crowd of shoving bodies, her eyes almost blind, her heart racing irrationally, towards the ladies’ room. There was a long queue in front of it, but Elena didn’t care. Her need to pee was not as bad as the need to get out. Sweat was running down her back and her only objective was flight. She’d made her excuses to Pawel Komarek, promising that she would be back in a second, but she had been lying. She had no intention of going back.

So she passed the ladies’ room with its throngs of witches and she-devils hanging out in front of it, squeezed through the narrow corridor towards a door marked ‘Private’. Ordinarily, she would have been too scrupulous to open such a door. Now she was past caring and fortunately it wasn’t even locked. So she slipped in and found herself in a dusty and untidy office, her eyes searching for another door that would lead her out of this den. All the time, she never asked herself what she was doing. All kinds of thoughts and fears lurked at the back of her mind, but she was not prepared to face them, not yet anyway. First, get out of here; second, get home safely. There would still be time to think everything through later.

The office had, in fact, a door which led to a storeroom. She crossed it quickly, almost running into a guy in a vampire costume, face painted white.

“ _You_ again?” he bellowed at her. “I already told you, you can’t be in here!”

“You must confuse me”, she huffed and pushed past him aggressively.

“Oi, are you deaf?!”

But she had already reached a flight of concrete stairs that took her out into a smelly courtyard with overflowing dustbins. As soon as she had the starry heavens above her, she breathed with relief. It did nothing to reduce the trembling in her hands though.

What had just happened? Why had Komarek’s exchange with the large bully disturbed her so? After all, he had been trying to help her. Certainly, she would have appreciated any assistance from a man against this arse-grabbing idiot!

However, it wasn’t so much what Komarek had done, but how he’d done it. When she remembered the wave of hatred and contempt that had emanated from him, the hairs on her arms stood on edge. It hadn’t been a normal way of dealing with a situation like this. It hadn’t been the way anyone should treat a fellow human being, no matter how awfully the guy had behaved. How Pawel Komarek had talked to this man, how he’d made him flee by merely looking at him …. why, one might have thought …

Elena shook herself. That was impossible. Or was it?

Her skin started to crawl again. She had to get going. Her left hand closed tightly around the strap of her handbag while her right hand felt for her wand in the back pocket of her blue jeans.

Her heart missed a beat.

The wand was gone!

Stupidly, she stopped, turned around, turned to all sides. Where could her wand have gone? She was sure that she had checked for it only about fifteen minutes ago, and now … The implication of what might have happened was too much. She must get out of here, go to safety. Send an owl to Snape, tell him of her suspicions.

Snape. Thinking of him sent a shiver of relief through Elena’s body. She only had to find him, connect with him and everything would be fine.

She hurried through a narrow alleyway that led towards the main street. The bus stop was only about five blocks down from here, but she would have given anything for being able to Apparate flawlessly. But even if she had been able to do that – what good would it have been without her wand? Damn it, how could she have been so stupid to loose it? Or had she? She thought of the beefy guy called Jims. Had he taken it? Well, if so, he wouldn’t be able to do any harm, being such a consummate Muggle. However, there was that other idea of what might have happened, but that was such a frightening thought that she pushed it out of her mind again. Not now.

The main street was close. She saw the lights from the cars passing by, she heard merry laughter and whooping from Halloween folks. The end of the alleyway was only a few yards away and she ran towards it.

A dark figure stepped out of the shadows.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Coldness plunged into her stomach.

It was Pawel Komarek coming towards her, a strange glitter in his eyes. However, he was not the Pawel Komarek that she’d come to know, her precocious dancing student, easy-going and fashionable. It was the man she had met for the first time fifteen minutes ago in the packed pub, a cold and dangerous man. Now he was facing her in a dark and empty alleyway.

“Home”, she breathed. “I’m not feeling well.”

It was true. She felt nauseous. However, Komarek merely grinned at her.

“I daresay, I’d be disappointed if you were still being your cheerful, naïve self by now.” His voice was low, calm and had menace in it.

“What do you want?” she hissed at him.

He gave a low laugh that sent another shiver down her spine. Everything was in that laugh. Contempt, cunning and betrayal.

“You know what I want”, he whispered. “And I think unconsciously you have known for a while. Why I was even bothering with you? Stupid, giddy girl. But that’s how Severus Snape likes them, doesn’t he? He’s a downright slummer, that one.”

The ground might have opened up and swallowed her whole. How could she have been so stupid! All this time when she had tried to figure out who the author of the blood parchments was – when she had always known him, trusted him, let him into her house even. All out of vanity and at the same time ignoring any bad gut feeling that she’d had about him, telling herself that it wasn’t possible, that he was nothing but a … Muggle … Had she not been so full of fear, she might have noticed how strong this idea was, how quickly you put yourself over others, just because you thought you had an inborn advantage.

“D’you think he might come for you?” Komarek went on in his low voice that sounded a little teasing. He tilted his head, scrutinized her. “Oh yes, I think he will.”

“He has no reason”, Elena said in a strangled voice. “He is only my teacher.”

Komarek smiled very softly. Something about it made Elena’s mind snap. She tried a desperate move, focussed. After all, Snape had always said that the true wizard didn’t need a wand, it was just a helping means to focus. She slightly stretched out her hand, muscles tight, and hissed “ _Stupefy_!”

He merely ever so slightly waved his head as if dodging a gnat. “Nice try.” Next, he lazily raised his own hand and without touching her gave her a glancing blow across the face. She staggered backwards, but he grabbed her around the waist and dragged her with him into the shadows.

“You took my wand”, she muttered drowsily, “didn’t you, you bastard, you stole it!”

“You lost your wand?” His mouth was close to her ear. “Why, that was very, very stupid of you.”

She struggled against his grip, but it was like iron. His aftershave filled her nostrils, made her even more nauseous. Her head was still swimming from the blow he’d dealt her and the metallic taste of blood was on her lips. Yet she noticed by the way his English had suddenly improved what an accomplished actor he was.

With a jolt, she realized that Komarek had started to move his hands over her body. Her hips, her behind, and suddenly he groped at her blouse as if to tear it off her. Elena’s blood ran cold.

“Get off me, you fucking bastard!” she screamed at him, the response being another punch – again without physically touching her – in her face.

“Don’t flatter yourself, silly girl”, he hissed, “I would _never_ compromise myself by interfering with you!” Yet, he continued to fumble at her chest. “Where is it?” he demanded roughly.

“What d’you mean?” she sobbed desperately.

“Your Time Turner. Where’s it gone?”

The Time Turner. If only she had it now. The fact that she didn’t was enough to make her sob, and with the pain in her face on top of that, she had no time to wonder how he knew … “I don’t have it”, she pressed forth. “It’s … at home …”

“Piece of jewellery to you, huh? Stupid bitch!”

For good measure, he hit her again. It made her reel, stumble back, but he held her as if trying to show her that she was his to do with what he wanted. At that moment, she heard footsteps from the end of the alleyway and again she started to struggle, to cry out for help, but at the same moment something bore down on her windpipe, like fingers pressing, and every sound got stuck in her throat.

“Shush now”, he whispered into her ear, holding her close to his body, seemingly enjoying this, “you know this is inevitable, don’t you. Your magic, scarce as it is, won’t work and plus you’ve played into my pocket, lost your fucking wand, you little Mudblood idiot! You know, I’m so glad not having to witness this anymore, this blundering, all this ‘Hey, I’m so special, but it’s this beautiful secret so I’ll just be all smiley Mary Sue’. That’s exactly what makes a Muggle. I’m so fed up with it!”

The fear was like hot lava spreading in her chest and making her want to pee. In spite of that, she saw that he was right. She’d thought that she’d had that funny chatty Slav under control. She had hidden her magic, her double life under a threadbare blanket, hoping that smiling to the front would do the trick.

He released the pressure, she gasped for air, and at the same time she felt the familiar lift of Apparition, the only constant being Komarek’s lips at her ears and the fabric of his coat against her face. The whirl had never been so rough, so upsetting to mind and stomach, it was wild and aggressive, and when she finally touched ground, she twisted aside and puked about four good glasses of Merlot onto a ground of grass and sand …

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	29. Kidnapped

**Kidnapped**

 

Apparating right into a small box room was no easy feat and even Severus Snape had to concentrate hard to achieve it. Nonetheless, he didn’t manage without a loud crack reverberating through the Crawford house. Sheets of paper were lifted into the air, books opened with rustling pages, the cupboard door banged loudly against its frame and the curtains stirred wildly. It took a few seconds for all this to settle down and only then did he dare to move, to quietly cast his eyes around the tiny darkened room.

It smelt of her, the clutter of clothes, books and papers had her imprint, but Elena herself was missing. He had looked for her everywhere. At this house, twenty minutes earlier, when a confused Anna Crawford had explained to him that her niece had duty at the dancing school today; at the dancing school, where he’d been told – not without the usual dirty looks at his out-worldly appearance, but at that point he’d been past caring – that she’d left almost two hours ago with a couple of young friends; and in the streets around the school, to no avail. He’d Apparated in Diagon Alley, checking the shops that he knew or suspected she liked – _his_ bookshop, but also a couple of boutiques where he’d collected another round of dirty looks. The search proved problematic. It was Halloween, all of Diagon Alley was on its feet. This infernal woman couldn’t have chosen a worse time to disappear.

Snape swore under his breath. His anger was directed at Elena – for making him do this, look for her like a frantic madman – but the more rational level of his mind knew that this was just a means to keep the fear for her at bay. After all, he had to stay calm. Bad times had taught him that any means were permitted, however dodgy, if only they allowed him to keep his cool, to not let the crisis get too close to him.

So he hung on to that cool, desperately, and analysed the room, her territory, on the look-out for clues. A movement at the edge of his vision made him jump. However, it was only the black cat, Lux, who had glided down from the windowsill onto the bed and now looked at Snape intently. The wizard didn’t hesitate to make use of the opportunity and raised his wand. “ _Legilimens_.”

‘She isn’t here, mate’, the cat’s stream of consciousness came back at him, ‘and it’s no use asking me ‘cause I don’t know. No one’s talking to me these days, anyways.’

The cat seemed a little miffed and had, as cats will, retreated to a cave of sullenness and demonstrative independence.

‘This man’, Snape asked in his mind, ‘her dancing student … she told me his name, but I don’t remember …’

‘No use asking me, either, ‘cause I don’t remember names. Difficult enough to remember my own since every new keeper changes it. – But I _did_ warn her.’

‘Warn her?’ Another jolt went through Snape.

‘Not that she’d listen. Very occupied with herself lately. But that man … he was no good, I could see that right away. Trouble in a handsome shell. It was obvious she liked the attention, though.’

Snape tried to ignore the latter comment and the sting that came with it. ‘Where could she be?’

His eyes fell on the panel skirting of the small room. He now noticed something lying on the floor below, something his sudden Apparition had upset. He bent down and gathered up two cards. They were Tarot cards from quite an unsophisticated deck rarely used in the wizarding world, but probably popular in the Muggle sphere. He turned one of them over. Sure enough, it was The Tower. Snape showed the card to the cat sitting on the bed, asking another silent question.

‘She’s had it up there for a while’, Lux explained to Snape’s mind. ‘She’s been playing around with those cards. The Tower she always kept there, meant something to her, I guess. The other card she chose anew every morning.’

Snape turned around the other card. It showed an entwined naked couple, a snake wound around their joined hips. The Lovers. Quickly Snape put the cards back on the skirting and went over to the window, staring up and down the dark and deserted cobbled street. It took the better part of his mind power to keep his queasy stomach from interfering with his resolve, so horribly did the dark gloom press upon him. His inner alarm was screaming and although he would have claimed that he had no intuition, the blasted thing now told him that something was seriously wrong. But what to do?

He noticed a flutter across the street. It was by his house, at one of the windows. The black owl. Again, Snape’s insides churned. This couldn’t possibly mean anything good.

He turned sharply towards the door, but in that moment someone knocked on it softly.

“ _Ellie? Bist du da? Was war das für ein Krach_ _ **[1]**_?”

Severus Snape focussed and in the next moment, another mini-earthquake shook the room, rustled papers, made curtains fly and Lux dug his claws into the bedding so as not to be blown away. When Anna Crawford finally opened the door a fraction and peeked inside, the turmoil had died down and the black cat looked back at her with a sleepy peaceful blink. Otherwise, the room was empty …

 

* * *

 

_Snape …_

_This time you really forgot about me, didn’t you? That’s the way people are, they like to push the shitty things out of their minds and pretend they don’t exist. I don’t blame you. You must have felt nice and cosy in your little world, everything like it used to be, but without the Dark Lord to be spied on and with a pretty girl by your side instead. Were you almost happy, Professor? Did you trick yourself into believing that things might have a good ending for you, that you might actually manage to walk between the raindrops? Now, I’m fate’s kick in the butt become flesh. You must have known that it was coming. It was inevitable, after all, and you know it._

It was hard to hold the parchment. His hands were trembling, his heart raced and his eyes pricked. There was something horrible lurking inside of him – the tension of the entire day, bloody Halloween, magnified manifold – which he must not let wash over him. He commanded himself to breathe evenly, not to screw up his facial features although they contorted by themselves. He knew the drill, how to do it. These were techniques he had used hundreds of times, every time, in fact, he’d had to go back to Voldemort’s side, pretending he was the ever-faithful servant, the most valued advisor, the one most loyal to the cause and to the man that had killed what had been most precious to him. He could do it again, no doubt, though he’d forgotten the pain that went with it, the nausea, the weakening in his bones. Was it even conceivable that not so long ago he had done all this without second thought, without asking what he was doing to himself? And had he really missed how good it had felt to have all this out of his life? Why, he might have felt happy these last weeks and months! But he hadn’t, had wallowed in self-pity instead, and now the good life was gone, once again. Bloody, blasted déjà-vu!

_Haven’t you been looking forward to Halloween, Snape? It’s a special day for you, isn’t it, and knowing this, I have prepared a real treat for you. This is going to be a day of remembrance, for you just as much as for me._

_I have your little Mudblood girl, Snape. Her naivety is just as staggering as with most of her kind and although I’ve been near her all this time, she didn’t suspect me and was as affectionate as a puppy. Now she’s crying. I might almost have pity on her._

_But I don’t wish to discuss your deplorable taste in women. We all act along patterns, don’t we, and yours is very clear. You fancy those Muggle girls because you desperately crave the recognition you never got from your Mudblood father. But cheer up, Snape, all the great cowboys have daddy issues and in order to get through them, there’s nothing like confrontation._

_Are you ready to confront me, face me head-on? I sincerely hope you are, because I’m afraid otherwise your Muggle friend will face the same fate as that other so-called witch that you couldn’t save. And as in her case, you will have to live for the rest of your life with the knowledge that you are to blame, that you could have saved her if you hadn’t been so damn stupid._

Snape’s body tensed. He stared wildly around the room, his sitting room, which was looking back at him indifferently. A stifled moan came from his throat and exploded into an outcry of anguish and loathing, reverberating from the cracked walls. The echo rung in his ears and he felt isolated from it as if he hadn’t been the source, but a wounded animal hiding somewhere. He could have smashed something, trashed up the whole room, but he knew that it wouldn’t make him feel better. So he just stood there, letter in one shaking hand, flexing the fingers of the other.

A knock at the door, it opened a fraction. Gilly’s large eyes looked at him apprehensively.

“Master, you’re back …”

“Get out!”

“But Master, there was a …”

“OUT!” he roared viciously. “Leave me alone, you nosy, damned, good-for-nothing creature!”

The door was slammed shut with a bang and silence returned to the sitting room, accompanied by an oppressive reproachful gloom. The opportunity to vent his anger had been welcome, however, it hadn’t helped one bit. He was still here, the parchment was still in his hand and every time he looked at the bold blood-red letters, the abyss opened up again.

_Let’s take this to where it all started. Godric’s Hollow. Meet me at St. Clementine’s as soon as you read this. I shall wait, as I have for such a long time …_

Snape let the parchment sink and swallowed hard. Godric’s Hallow. The guy certainly had a knack of pushing his buttons, and he wondered how he could possibly know about his phobia regarding Halloween. However, such musings were futile, they only served to postpone the inevitable, and after all, details about his private life and potential feelings had been all over the witching world’s tabloids recently, thanks to the wonderful Harry Potter, or rather – and to be fair – thanks to a damn snake not capable of finishing its job. He should have been dead. Dead and buried, unable to botch things up, unable to draw innocents into the vicious patterns of which his life consisted.

Absentmindedly and from old habit, he checked for his wand. Of course, it was where it always was, in the breast pocket of his travelling cloak. This, too, was a delaying strategy. But he would have to go. Godric’s Hollow. He knew that there was a great probability that it was a trap, that he would be running right into it. Not going there, however, was even more impossible than going there. He couldn’t risk Elena’s life. There was still a chance that, if the writer of the blood parchments was able to lay a hand on him, he’d let her go. Snape realized that he would gladly die – which he should have, actually, months ago – if it meant that she could live. He didn’t even have to ponder this, it was a given. Seventeen years ago, he would gladly have given his life if it had meant that Lily could live on, happy, carefree, even if it had to be with bloody James Potter. Only after her death had Snape realized that loving someone was not about wanting them for oneself, but about living – or dying, if need be – for their happiness.

He breathed deeply, put on a grim face and with determined strides, he left the sitting room, left his poky little house at Spinner’s End. He was about to Disapparate from his doorstep – he was beyond caring if neighbours might see him – the destination firm in his mind, but he didn’t. An idea popped up, spontaneously, and it seemed to him like the flimsy straw of hope to cling to.

Alright, so he had been told to come immediately upon reading the parchment. But could the other man know when he would read it? Certainly not. He still had time, time for one last attempt, a detour. If it didn’t work out, he’d have to face the music, go to Godric’s Hollow.

However, he had remembered the Tower. The Tower on Elena’s Tarot card, the Tower struck by lightning in her dream, the Tower figurine in the vault of Hogwarts and the lighthouse tower by the sea he had visited. Too many towers for coincidence, he thought, but maybe it was just a wild guess. If not, however, this might be the place where he kept her, where he might even have left her while going to Godric’s Hollow to wait for him, Snape. If his reasoning was correct, it would be an incredible piece of luck. He remembered something that Lily had liked to say, that ultimately luck comes only to those who deserve it and have a pure heart. He had resented her saying it then because it was really making his entire life appear absurd by stating that he had somehow deserved all this ill luck.

Maybe this time he _did_ deserve it. He wasn’t thinking about himself at all. It was saving Elena that was first on his mind. Saving her at all costs, no matter how it would end for him.

“How’s that for a pure heart?” he muttered between clenched teeth, hardly realizing that he was talking to Lily, his private patron saint of this hellish, ill-boding Halloween day. The next word issuing from his mouth was “Hogwarts!”, and a fraction of a second later, he had vanished from his doorstep into thin air …

 

* * *

 

She woke up with a buzz in her head, coughing and spitting out bloodied saliva. Her whole body was hurting, pain of tension and fear, as if all her muscles were caught in a permanent clench. However, it took her only a moment to orient herself, and to remember … Then Elena groaned in boundless frustration.

Frantically, she looked around. The room was dark, the few items of furniture – a bed, a table, a basin – mere outlines. The floor under her was swollen wood infested with fine grains of something, powder or sand. She willed herself to get to her feet, to ignore the aching joints, and hurried to the tiny window, no more but a slit in a curved wall. She knew what was out there even before she saw it for she had unconsciously identified the crush of waves, of water hitting shore. For a fleeting moment, she remembered vacations in Italy with her parents, mellow nights on a balcony and the roar of the Mediterranean as a constant background. It was a pleasant memory which only lasted a second. It made her sorely miss her parents – for the first time in over a year – her home, her old world. Then reality broke in and alienated everything warm and familiar.

Narrowing her eyes, she tried to make sense of what she saw. The white cliffs, overgrown with thin grass. Where in England did they have those? Dover, was it? She couldn’t really tell.

Next, her instincts told her to try the door. Not that she hoped for anything by it, but it was like a to-do list she had to work off, however futile. Of course, she found the door locked. She tried an Unlocking Spell, to no avail. The hinges didn’t even squeak. Elena remembered that she didn’t have her wand, but even without her wand, something should have happened. With a feeling of foreboding, she concentrated on a cracked white cup standing on the table and gleaming in the weak moonlight. “ _Accio_ ”, she muttered, stretching her hand out possessively. Nothing. The cup didn’t even budge. It didn’t work. Her magic might never have existed.

Boundless panic overtook her. She stumbled over to the bed, cowered on it, started to whimper. Her body shook uncontrollably as hot tears ran down her face. Suddenly, she remembered Snape. For a brief moment, again, hope raised its deceiving head. Snape would come for her. He’d get her out of here.

Then she remembered that Pawel Komarek – or whatever his real name might be – was using her as bait. He wasn’t interested in her. His contempt had been clear from the way he had repeatedly struck her face to subdue her, sent her into an ultimate faint, all with a strange sadistic smile on his face, clearly taking pleasure in his brutality. If he did all this to her, what would he do to Snape?

“Don’t let him come”, she muttered, seemingly to herself, but really to a higher power she wasn’t quite convinced existed – because her Catholic upbringing had tried too hard – but the idea of which she couldn’t shake. “Let him be busy at Hogwarts, let him see through the trap …”

She wanted him to come, but at the same time she didn’t. She sat by herself, cried, struggling with this ambiguous chasm. When she came out at the other end – although it took forever to do so – a strange calmness had gotten hold of her. She guessed that this was what lay beyond despair. So things had turned nasty. She had been stupid and she had let herself be caught. Now live with it, she told herself. If you die, you die. Everyone dies eventually. She would face it, maybe she would even welcome it. Actually, she realized, she would go with a lot of things. If only … yes, if only that madman didn’t get to Snape.

 

As the night advanced, the room paradoxically became lighter. The moon had by now climbed up high in the sky and cast a weak glow on her misery. Elena lay rolled-up on the bed again, straining her ears in the silence. There was no sound, not a footstep, not a shuffling. For all she knew, she was entirely alone in the building to which this room belonged. It was circular, she noted, and when she’d looked out of the window she had also noticed that it was located several storeys up. It was dawning on her that she was being held in a tower – how else to explain the curved walls and the small slit for a window? Again, her own stupidity stared her in the face. Hadn’t she repeatedly dreamt of a tower? Hadn’t she used her Tarot cards almost every day recently, and hadn’t she – time and again – drawn The Tower? It was one thing to find out that one had magic. To believe in it when it asserted itself in unexpected ways, however, was quite a different matter.

Komarek had probably gone out or she would have heard some kind of noise that gave away his presence. Elena’s heart sank. She feared that he had gone to meet Snape at some previously specified place. Would Snape go there? She feared that he would. Would he stand a chance, would he be able to hold his own against Komarek’s cunning? Maybe if they met head-on, had a fair fight, Snape would prevail. However, it was naïve to hope that Komarek would fight fairly. He wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble, acting Muggle for months when he clearly detested people with no magic, biding his time, waiting, to loose anything in one moment against a wizard who was well-versed in battle and certainly – at least since Dumbledore and Voldemort had left the stage – one of the most powerful of his time.

She started shaking again, but this time from the cold. In her frenzy to flee the pub, she had left her jacket behind. Her blouse was too wispy for late October and slowly her fingers turned to icicles. She tore the blanket off the bed, wrapped herself up in it, but it was thin and threadbare and had hardly any effect at all. To keep the cold, the fear and the despair at bay, she made herself think happy things, conjured up her whole storage of good memories and found that most of them originated from the recent past. The day Snape had told her she was a witch … the day of the Patronus and the Mary Jane … and the day when she had run into him in Diagon Alley, Eddie Hincks in tow, and the look on Snape’s face when he’d seen her … In spite of herself, Elena started to giggle. Only now did she realize with a pleasant shock that Eddie had been the cause of Severus’ dirty looks, that he had probably thought that she was on a date with Eddie, which in turn meant that …

A warm feeling filled her stomach. She felt a grin on her face that was sticky with tears. Oh, she had been stupid in so many ways! Now it was too late. Perhaps too late …

A sudden noise made her ears prick. It was a thud, and surprisingly it came from above. Quietly, she got up from the bed and went towards the door again. It had a small window with a grill. She peered out, but saw nothing much in the darkness except for what might have been a very narrow staircase. Yet, she continued to peer out of it, hoping that her eyes would adapt better or that the noise would come back.

Which it did. This time, it wasn’t so much a thud than a rustle, as of fabric stroking against brick. Again, it came from above. Elena twisted her head to get a better angle of vision out through the tiny grilled window, but still she could not see anything that could have explained the noise.

Then a squeak. Steps on wooden stairs, she could have sworn. She heard it once, then it ceased, and in the next moment the noise seemed like an illusion. Elena held her breath. Had she been imagining it? She remembered when she had been little, how she had often lain awake in her bed, hearing strange noises and over-interpreting them until she was convinced that a burglar or a monster had entered the house when really it had only been the squeaks and groans of old wooden beams. Was she doing the same now?

But there it was again! A squeak, a rustle of fabric, and in the next moment she saw a black-cloaked figure stepping out of the shadows.

She almost squealed, but as if he had anticipated this he raised a white finger under the hood of his cloak where his mouth would be. Without a sound, he came towards the grilled window. From under the hood, she imagined black eyes glittering.

Her heart beat madly, so madly in fact that she almost feared it would alert anyone and that the roaring of her pulse in her ears might drown out the crush of waves outside. She stared at the white fingers that came through the metal grill and impulsively she raised her hands, enclosed his, stared frantically at him. ‘You came for me!’ she wanted to shout, ‘you found me!’ But she saw him shake his head. ‘Not a sound, be quiet’, he willed her and she clamped her mouth shut.

She heard him rustling around outside the door. He was trying to do something, and after a while – since whatever he was doing did not appear to work – she heard him mutter under his breath, swear words maybe, or simply an incantation. Elena lifted herself onto the balls of her feet and her lips to the grill.

“It doesn’t work”, she whispered as quietly as she could. “Magic somehow doesn’t work in here.”

He jerked up his head sharply. She felt his shock palpably. He turned about himself, muttering again, verifying whether what she had told him was true. Then, with a sweep of his hand he lifted the hood from his head.

“Then I have to go”, he said in his lowest voice in which she detected a slight tremor.

She understood. Not go and leave her, but go and get help, now that he knew where she was, because without his magic the risk would be too high. She nodded and smiled madly at him through the grill. In spite of the darkness, she saw the corners of his mouth lift.

“Where is he?” he asked and the mere movement of his lips was enough for Elena to understand.

“I think he’s gone”, she replied, much in the same way. “I haven’t heard a peep since …”

Again, he lifted his finger to his mouth. ‘No need to say more.’ Through the grill, he gave her another smile that looked a little tormented, but was probably supposed to be reassuring. Then he turned around to the stairs that led upwards to where he’d come from …

 

* * *

 

Albus Dumbledore had once told him not to count his sheep unless he had them in the dry. It had seemed like a good piece of advise and Severus Snape had stuck to it religiously. In this moment, however, he found it difficult. Something inside him had suddenly become very light. He was close to elation. It almost made him forget to take the steps upwards quietly.

So his hunch had been right. The man might be clever, but he had miscalculated what Snape had been able to find out in the meantime, specifically about the vaults, the involvement of the Selwyns and the lighthouse. He might have forged an elaborate plan, but had overlooked a blatant loophole. No one is ever as clever as they think, Severus thought with satisfaction.

He managed the stairs without any undue noise and reached the platform on top of the tower. As he took the last step, something stung his eyes. A blinding light or reflection and he lifted his hand to his face to weaken its effect and to be able to still see through the glowing haze. Surprised, he stared at a disc, maybe one and a half foot in diameter, installed on the metal grid that he had noticed during his last visit to the lighthouse. He hadn’t seen the disc when he’d arrived earlier by Apparating onto the platform, maybe because the moonlight hadn’t caught in it then, making it shine brightly and giving off a faint bluish light. There were hieroglyphs on the surface of the shining disc which he recognized as Tibetan. What the hell _was_ this?

But he had no time to overthink things. The priority now was to get to the Ministry, get help and return here with substantial man power to get Elena out. What she had said, that magic somehow didn’t work inside this tower, worried him and had convinced him that it was better to seek strength in numbers.

He shook his wand, set on Disapparating. It didn’t work. When he opened his eyes, expecting the bustle of a London street on Halloween night, it was still darkness, salty wind and crushing waves instead. Oh, and the infernal blink from the disc, of course, that continued to blind him.

Maybe he’d been too revved up to do it properly. He tried again, helping it by speaking his destination out loud – “Ministry of Magic, Whitehall” – but still he remained on this damn platform. _Magic doesn’t work here somehow_. Maybe that was true for the entire building, not just its inside. Maybe he had to get down to the heath to be able to get away. But if that was true, how the hell had he been able to Apparate _onto_ the platform?

Hardly had his mind worded that question, he knew the answer to it. It made his stomach lurch and his heart groan a desperate ‘No, no, no …’ He turned about madly, the reflection from the disc still blinding his eyes, and in the next moment, a horrible blow was dealt directly into his face. He felt his nose crack, staggered backwards, frantically trying to regain his balance when another strike hit him at his right temple and made his vision go out of focus, made his mind reel. He fell and touched concrete ground, felt blood gushing from his nose and running into his mouth. Desperately, he struggled to get up when he saw, against the shine of the disc, a dark figure towering over him. A man with his shirt sleeves rolled up, muscular lower arms showing, strong sinewy hands clenched to fists.

“Don’t even try, you bloody bastard”, a hoarse voice said.

A hand grabbed the front of Snape’s cloak and plucked him up from the ground. Disoriented from the blows he’d received, Snape had no chance. He struggled and twisted his body to escape the firm grip which held him up. Under his breath, he muttered all sorts of wild incantations, some of them he’d thought lost and forgotten, but in this his hour of need he remembered them all, even the remotest youth-time jinxes. None of them worked. The only thing that worked – quite well, actually – was the beating he received. It was vicious, a celebration of violence, and he felt blow after blow of it hitting his face, punching him in the stomach, kicking into his shins and knees. With something close to amusement – because his mind had quickly disassociated itself from what was happening to his body, now hovering above him, observing, acting as if unconcerned – he realized that he hadn’t been thrashed up like this since he’d been twelve … in his father’s last attempt to regain control over his wizard son … for which Severus had blasted the old man into the wall, upon which the latter had never tried again … if only he’d been able to blast this guy off the tower … but he couldn’t … his magic was gone … and without it … he was … _nothing_ … nothing but a poppet being pushed down a flight of splintery wooden stairs … into darkness … and nothingness.

 

* * *

 

The voice was speaking to him softly. It was a beautiful one – as far as men’s voices go – and he might have leaned into it, might have let its melody soothe him who was now no more than a bundle of pain, lying curled up at the bottom of a flight of steep stairs. There was the metallic taste of blood in his mouth and he could only see out of one eye, saw the swollen floorboards and the dirt in the eerie glow of a weak lamp swinging above. When he moved his head a little, he could also see the man’s bent knee, clad in denims, and the lower part of a face – strong chin, thin lips, a goatee – directly above him. The lips moved, the words poured out almost sweetly, but it was the meaning of them that hurt him more than the glancing blows he had received.

“So here we are, Professor. I finally got you. It was easier than I thought, I must admit, thanks to you. You played into my hands admirably, you and your little Mudblood friend. Proves to me that you underestimated me. You probably thought you were mighty clever, not going to Godric’s Hollow, but coming here instead. The idea that I only used the Selwyns – and their loud-mouthed offspring, specifically – to get you to this place obviously never occurred to you, did it?”

Snape closed his swollen eyes and swallowed. He was trembling, from the treatment he had received and from something deeper, uglier. Fear and helplessness. Relentlessly, the voice went on.

“I guess it’s time for introductions. My name is Pavel Leshnikov. Husband to Aida Leshnikova, brother-in-law to Igor Karkaroff – whom I think you know very well. Don’t you?”

He didn’t stir, merely listened. What else was he to do? The man with the soft voice, however, seemed to think differently because he hit him viciously – though not very painfully – across the head. “I asked you a question.”

Snape groaned and gave a nod.

“Yes. You knew Igor Karkaroff. And it was your fault that he died, and my wife with him.”

He opened his mouth, feeling the painful stretch of his cut lips. “It’s not … I didn’t …”

“Oh yes! You gave the Dark Lord the information where my brother-in-law went into hiding! Upon which he sent a bunch of his wildest dogs to hunt him, kill him and burn down his house. Unfortunately, _my wife_ was in that house … it was her parent’s home … she burnt alive … in her sleep, and in dragon fire that made it impossible for her to freeze the flames once she woke up, almost choked by the smoke … _Damn it_!” The soft voice broke and abruptly, the man lifted himself to his feet. “ _You_ are to blame! You alone!”

Slowly, Snape shook his head from side to side.

“You can’t evade this, Professor”, Pavel Leshnikov, now several feet above him, droned out. “Igor told me that you were the only one who knew where he’d gone to. He said that the information was safe with you, that you wouldn’t rat on him, that …”

“I didn’t rat …”, Snape broke in, although it took him an immense effort to speak, “he saw it. The Dark Lord. In my mind. I had to protect other information … things that were … more important at the time …”

“More important!” A spray of spittle hit Snape’s face. “My wife … my Aida … the love of my life …” He broke off. Snape watched feet in polished black leather shoes pace the tiny space between the stairs. Suddenly, with an almost elegant movement, the shoes turned towards him and before he knew or could anticipate it, he received a biting kick into the stomach that pressed all air out of his lungs in a horribly wheezing sound.

He heard a whimper. It came from behind and above him. Someone spoke, pleaded in a foreign language. Elena. Snape closed his eyes again. His mind raced, searching for things to say. However, he could only come up with platitudes, about wars demanding sacrifices, collateral damage and such crap. He knew that none of it would deter his attacker, not after the lengths that he had gone to.

Plus, the man was right. He _had_ given up the location where Igor Karkaroff had gone into hiding. Not that fleeing to his family was all that original – everyone could have come up with it. The fact remained, however, that Snape had given up this snippet when the Dark Lord had grilled him, invaded his mind, searching every nook and cranny for a sign of betrayal. Occlumency only ever went so far. You could hide certain information with it, but might have to give up other details instead, and Severus had been too busy to hide everything having to do with Harry Potter, Lily and his own motives that he just hadn’t paid enough attention, hadn’t been able to consider all potential consequences. Also – if truth be told – it had been his contention at the time that Igor Karkaroff should look after himself …

He murmured something.

“I beg your pardon, Professor?” Leshnikov bent over him. “What did you say?”

“Bellatrix … Lestrange. She liked to burn … dragon fire … it was her thing.”

Leshnikov gave a low cackle. “Yeah, that’s right, Snape, blame the dead! But you know what? Revenge on dead people doesn’t do it for me, it doesn’t give me a kick at all!”

Instead, he gave Snape another kick, this time in the chest. Something cracked and a searing pain went through his upper body.

“I should bludgeon you to death!” spat Leshnikov, now in a maddening frenzy. “Oh, and I would enjoy that! – Unfortunately, that’s not the plan. Don’t worry, though, it’s a beautiful plan, almost breath-taking, and I’m sure you’ll agree. See, Professor: you are going to die in the same way as my Aida died. You’re gonna burn. Your magic is no use in this building and so you will not be able to do anything about it. You will burn, and your Mudblood friend is going to burn with you!”

Snape coughed and the pain in his chest made it almost unbearable to speak. “Let her go”, he pleaded hoarsely, “she’s done nothing to you.”

“Very chivalrous”, Leshnikov said derisively. “Didn’t think you had it in you, but that girl sure gets your juices going.” The knees bent once more and now his voice was very close to Snape’s ear. “This is very touching”, he whispered, “and you know what? I think she fancies you back. Hard to believe, right, seeing what an ugly brute you are, but there it is. But make no mistake, I’m not telling you this to do you a favour. I’m telling you so you know what you could have had and now never will. On top of it, in your last moments you will know that you dragged her into all this, your own demise, and that you will be responsible for her death!” Now he laughed, a low and absolutely delighted laughter. “I may, however … provided I’m in a good mood by tomorrow morning when this tower is going up in flames … Aida died at sunrise, you see … I may do a quick _Avada Kedavra_ on her to spare her the pain … you won’t be so lucky, though.”

He heard Elena’s voice then. She was pleading with Leshnikov again and he remembered the words that she spoke because he had heard them before, in the night of her dream. “ _Bitte, lass uns geh’n. Nicht so, bitte …_ ”

“Don’t talk to me, fucking Mudblood!” Leshnikov bellowed at her. “I had you talking at me for months and it has almost made me sick! Your vanity, your condescension, your self-satisfied smugness, so utterly convinced that you are special, but in fact too stupid to see what’s right in front of you! If I hear you say another word, you will die the same way as he, I swear to you!”

But she did talk back. No pleading now, though. She sounded more like an angrily hissing cat and although Snape didn’t understand the words, he knew that eighty per cent were probably the worst swear words that she knew.

“Shut it!” yelled Leshnikov. “The way you’re going, I’ll hardly be in a good mood by tomorrow morning. But since you’re weeping for your broken hero over here – you can have him …”

With that, he grabbed Snape by the shoulders and half lifted him up. The pain that went with this process was considerable, but Snape clenched his teeth and forced himself to keep quiet, not to grant his enemy the satisfaction of his moans. He couldn’t do anything, however, against being dragged across the floor. He heard the banging of a door, then was manhandled roughly into the next room, the one where Elena was. Again, she started to spit and hiss, there was a commotion and then a loud clap, hand striking flesh, and her muffled whimper.

“Enjoy this”, Leshnikov said menacingly, “this is your last night in this world. Better make the most of it.”

He bent over Snape once more, fumbled at the cloak of the near listless man and got out his wand. Before his swollen eyes, Severus saw his faithful companion of twenty-seven years being snapped in half, ruptured dragon heartstring sticking out sadly, and thrown on the floor. Another pain that stung more than his aching flesh and bones, the act resembling an emasculation.

Then the door banged shut, complete darkness fell. Snape lay very still on the floorboards, grains of sand grazing his cheek. He listened to footsteps cluttering down wooden stairs, to another banging door and then there was silence, except for a ragged breathing, quite close to him.

He heard something – or rather someone – slide across the floor. Then he felt the warmth of a body near his face and he recognized her scent. Cool fingers touched his forehead, glided down along his temples and hairline.

So that was it. He’d gambled and lost, lost horrendously. It was a stupendous irony. Only weeks ago, his greatest cause of misery had been that Nagini hadn’t killed him off as she should have. Now that he had noticed that he really wanted to live again, it was over once more. What the hell, he asked himself, had been the use of this short reprieve from death? Why the over-long wait, why the raising of hope and even affection? It was all going to be lost in the end.

Yet, her touch was soothing. He closed his eyes, breathing shallowly. She didn’t say a word, but her presence was so strong that it was unnecessary to speak. She was there, close to him and to his utmost surprise, she could even bring herself to touch him tenderly, sigh to him, directing her hot breath into his face. He liked that. It made him slowly slip into something resembling calm and comfort. It was almost bliss.

 

 

[1] „Are you there? What with the noise?“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	30. In the Cold, Cold Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: sexual situations.  
> You can do this at home, but only if you are a consenting adult ...

**In The Cold, Cold Night**

 

There was nothing but to wait.

Elena sat on the sandy floorboards, her back against the frame of the bed and her eyes on the unmoving figure beside her. Snape was still rolled up, cramped arms folded in front of his chest, knees drawn in, and she could hear his ragged breathing. She didn’t know whether he was asleep or awake, or if he had passed out. She didn’t care nor did it matter. She would simply stay by his side and wait.

Every now and then, her eyes wandered out of the window, staring at the almost full moon hovering there and she couldn’t decide whether it was looking at her with pity or contempt. Both would have been right. They had botched things up royally. But this was also their last night in this life.

Whenever she reminded herself of this fact – that they were going to die, just hours from now – she felt strangely indifferent. Most of her didn’t believe it, thought of it as a cruel kind of Halloween joke. Imagining that she wouldn’t be here anymore by this time tomorrow was abstract and unreal. Again and again, her mind searched for remaining options and found none. Everything was lost, but part of her refused to assimilate the fact.

Memories came back in flashes while she sat, things she hadn’t thought of in years, as if her dying moments had already begun. She realized how much time she had wasted with petty anger, unnecessary worry and with flaunting her ego. She felt regret for all the things she’d wanted to do – they were suddenly very clear – and now wouldn’t. However, the regret was fleeting, because the time that remained had become so precious. Even such a simple act as sitting and listening to the breathing of the man beside her was suddenly fascinating, almost elating. Staring outside at the moon was as enchanting as looking at a piece of art or listening to a symphony. Her perception had shifted, taking in the little things that otherwise she wouldn’t have noticed. The salty smell of the sea, the crush of waves, the moon-lit room. Upon all this, Elena looked as if she had never smelt, seen or heard anything like it before and her heart beat calmly, steadfastly.

After a while – she couldn’t tell how much time had passed – Snape started to move. A sigh came from him and developed into a groan as he slowly pushed himself from the floor into an upright position. Elena watched him and she could see the agony in every single inch that his body struggled upwards. She slid closer to his side. He looked at her.

Even in the dark room, he was a real sight. There was blood all over the lower half of his face, his lip was cut, the swollen skin around his left eye darkening. Quietly Elena got up, stripped the pillow on the narrow bed off its case and went over to the basin where she doused it in water. Then she sat down beside Snape again and held the wet cloth against his forehead, his cheeks, his eyes, dabbing softly. He was past resistance and let her go on. Carefully, she started to wipe off the blood from his mangled face. Soon she was so immersed in doing this that she hardly noticed how he was gazing at her with an expression that was hard to read. Then again, what was the correct way of looking at someone in the face of death?

“I’m afraid that nose is broken.”

He shook his head slightly, and croaked “Your wand?” His voice didn’t sound very silky anymore, just bunged-up.

“He has it. – He doesn’t admit it, but I know he took it. May even have snapped it, like yours. Wouldn’t do any good, anyway.”

He winced. Maybe he had only just remembered that he was deprived of his magic. “So there’s nothing I can do.”

“There’s nothing _we_ can do”, she confirmed matter-of-factly. “No magic. Back to square one.”

“For you. Not for me.”

Elena observed the look of deep misery on his face. Snape didn’t know what it was like to be without magic. Not being able to do what he did so easily left him devastated, hurting him ten times more than Leshnikov’s punches had. He’d lost the very foundation of his quite substantial ego.

Elena said nothing, but went on with her cleaning. He let her, but continued to watch her closely. There was something lost and close to desperation in his black eyes.

“I dragged you into this”, he stated.

“Maybe. But I refused to leave, remember?”

“You did.”

“And I was too stupid to realize he wasn’t a Muggle. He played it well, though, played me like a violin.” She looked down on the floorboards. “He was right, you know. It was my vanity. I basked in his attention and flattery.”

“Yet, I should have …”

“Stop it, Professor, this doesn’t lead anywhere.”

It had come out harshly and he looked at her in surprise, then gave a shrug that turned into a wince. “Are you still going to call me ‘Professor’ in our dying moments?” His scathing tone matched hers.

The corners of her mouth jumped. “I would have called you ‘Severus’ before, but I wasn’t sure if you’d jinx me for it.”

“I might have.”

Suddenly she giggled.

Snape raised an eyebrow, or tried to. It made him scowl with pain. “What’s so funny?” he managed, voice strangled.

“It’s … this situation. I always thought … you know, facing death … that I would be horrified, panicking. But that’s not how it feels right now. Not at all. Actually, in a way it all feels like a big laugh.”

“Shock”, he said, “it keeps fear at bay. There’s nothing we’re afraid of as much as fear itself. Our mind will jump at anything to delay it.”

It was obvious he spoke from experience and Elena didn’t know what to say. It was the blatant sadness and dejectedness of him that silenced her. Snape had never been a cheerful person, yet up to know he had always seemed strong and in his way sure of himself. Not anymore.

Minutes went by.

“It’s not so bad”, he finally volunteered. “Dying. The moments immediately leading up to it may be a bit … well … but the thing itself is rather liberating.”

She scrutinized him, wondering what had made him say that. “I thought you couldn’t remember …?”

“I lied.”

“You did? Why?”

“I had no wish to regale random people with my death experience.”

So she wasn’t random. It gave her the courage to ask “What did you see?”

Another pause, almost half a minute. “It was … more like … an elaborate dream.”

“About what?”

He made a faint noncommittal gesture. “Over time, I’ve become hazy on the details. I was never good at remembering my dreams. – But I guess it was … a version of my life … how it might have been … if I hadn’t done … certain things.”

She considered this and wasn’t sure whether she should ask the next question. However, something told her that he wanted to talk, might even need to. “Was _she_ in it?”

He raised his head, looking straight at her. There was something both searching and challenging about it. Suddenly, he cast down his eyes and shook his head. “No. She wasn’t. – She was made for Potter. Not for me.” After a few seconds, he added. “I only realized it then. – That there are things you can’t fight against, that you just have to accept.”

Without noticing it, she had stopped cleaning up his face. What he was saying made her heart pound against her chest. Intuitively she knew that he had never spoken to anyone about this before.

“Like this”, Elena whispered, encompassing the room with a small gesture of her hand.

“Yeah.”

“Accept your fate. – Sounds pretty sarcastic right now.”

“I know.”

Silence ensued and Elena took up her treatment of his face again. While busying herself, she could feel his mind working in his head. She was pretty sure that he was ready to say more, however, she had no intention of pressuring him.

“That’s it”, she said finally. The dried blood had been washed from his face, leaving only swollen and sore skin, and she carelessly hurled the wet pillowcase – now a blood-spotted rag – into the corner of the room. No reason to respect the host here. She, too, leant against the bed and for several minutes they sat side by side on the floor, not talking, staring into nothingness, lost in their respective thoughts. These went pretty much along the same lines, the struggle to acknowledge that this was the last night, followed by the last sunrise if they were lucky, and that there would be no future. Part of them refused to believe it.

“I should have known”, Elena murmured after a while.

“What?” coughed Snape.

“That he can … somehow … block magic. You know, one time he came to see me at my home and I couldn’t heat water. I didn’t think anything by it then, only that I must have done it wrong, that I hadn’t focussed enough …”

Snape groaned profusely.

“What is it?”

“That day I couldn’t Disapparate from your dancing school?”

She looked at him curiously, then rolled her eyes in frustration. “We’ve been … stupid.”

He scoffed. “I told myself that it was because of steel carriers in the building … although, of course, that’s idiotic. Haven’t had that problem in decades, but that day I was …” He stopped abruptly.

“I’m wondering how he does it …”

“There’s a contraption up there”, Snape explained, pointing upwards. “A disc with inscriptions. Tibetan, I believe. It must be what blocks anyone’s magic in the entire tower.”

“A disc with Sanskrit letters on it?” Elena buried her face in her hands. “He wears one around his neck! And I thought he was going hippie on me …”

“Going what?”

“Ah, you know, when middle-aged men try to be youthful again …”

“I see”, he said drily.

“I’m so sorry”, Elena whispered.

Snape turned his mangled face to her. “For what?”

“It was my fault.” Something inside Elena snapped and to her own horror, she started sobbing. She hadn’t seen it coming, had felt almost calm only half a minute ago, but suddenly the tears overwhelmed her.

“Why now?” Snape asked roughly and a little impatiently. Clearly, crying women were not his field of expertise.

“Not only didn’t I realize who and _what_ he was … or what he was able to do … I also … I mean … he _asked_ me about you … saw you at your window … asked me who that strange neighbour of mine was … I should have known then!”

“Stop it”, commanded Snape. “You said it yourself. Things are as they are. Beating yourself up won’t make anything better.”

“But how do you switch off regret?” she asked bitterly.

He shrugged. “Focus on something else. On making amends, for instance.”

“Yeah, but we’re way beyond that.”

“That doesn’t change that it’s no use dwelling on it.”

“But … don’t you see that I was the weak spot from the beginning? _Your_ weak spot!” Again, he turned his eyes on her and there was a strange expression in them. “If _I_ hadn’t been there, he would never have got to you …”

“He would have found another way.”

“Yes, but …” More sobs.

“Stop this!” With a painful wince he rummaged in the pocket of his cloak, brought out a semi-clean handkerchief and handed it to her. “Do you want to spend your last hours annoying me?”

Elena took the piece of cloth and loudly blew her nose. “How am I supposed to spend them, then?”

Snape didn’t answer for almost a minute. Then, very quietly, he said. “Tell me about you.”

“What do you want me to tell you?”

Again the intense look, the glittering eyes. “Anything.”

Elena took a deep breath and launched into a story. She had wanted to tell him this before, only there had never been the chance and he was really very difficult to chat to. So – haltingly, and snivelling while doing it – she told him about a school trip to Prague when she’d been sixteen, shortly after the borders had opened. About how beautiful the city had been and how even then, without having the words for it, she had sensed that it was full of magic. She mentioned an old woman sitting on a low wall, feeding cats and staring at her intensely, and how Elena could have sworn that her eyes had – for a few fleeting seconds – turned violet.

Snape listened with a serious expression on his face. “She gave you The Eye”, he explained. “Recognized you as a fellow witch.”

Focussing on her story had calmed her. “You mean I could have known there and then?” she asked curiously.

He nodded.

“And I was convinced it had something to do with too much vodka the night before …”

“Yes. Muggles are good with explanations.”

“Maybe so. – Your turn now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Telling me a story.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know any stories. And if I do, I’m no good at telling.”

“Try.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Tell me about _him_.”

His eyebrows drew together fiercely. “About who? _Harry Potter_?”

“No! _Lord_ _Volltrottel_.”

“Lord Voldemort”, he corrected her, ever the teacher.

“You know who I mean.”

“What should I tell you about him? – He was powerful. Highly intelligent. Persuasive.”

However, Elena shook her head. “I think you know very well that this is not what I want to hear. – What I want to know is – what was he to _you_? Something about him must have fascinated you, and don’t give me your drivel about power again …”

“Drivel?”

“For all I know, Dumbledore was powerful, too, probably even more so. Yet, you didn’t join him. At first, anyway.”

Snape turned away his face, staring at his black-clad lap. He didn’t speak for a long time, and when he finally did, his voice was very quiet, so low in fact that she had to concentrate to catch what he was saying. “Always …”, he started hoarsely, “from when I was a child, actually, I resented the fact that as a wizard I had to hide myself. Not let on what I was. – You have to understand that my mother was a very capable witch. She had loads of magic … which she passed on to me … but she married a Muggle, which meant that she was not allowed to show it, that she had to pretend that she was just an ordinary housewife that didn’t ask, didn’t protest, but rather let herself be beat up by a man she could easily have blasted down the stairs if she had wanted to …” He broke off with a catch in his throat.

Elena didn’t say anything, but continued to look at him patiently. Maybe he noticed it because he went on.

“Suffice to say she didn’t want to. She succumbed. Denied her nature. And she expected me to do the same.” He shrugged. “The rest you can imagine. Teenage rebellion. The idea that I might live freely, as a wizard, being able to do what I wanted, at any time and without restraints, without that bloody _Statute of Secrecy Act_ … it was very appealing to me.”

Elena nodded, encouraging him.

“In your Muggle world”, he struggled on, “there’s a lot of talk about _minorities_. People that don’t meet the accepted standard. About their right to be who and how they are, regardless …”, again, he broke off.

“So it wasn’t about the blood-supremacy thing at all?” she whispered.

He scoffed. “How? I’m a half-blood. And the most brilliant witch I’ve ever known was a Muggle-born. – I may have been misguided, but I’ve never been stupid.”

Ms. Goody-two-Shoes again. Elena fought hard to keep an impassive face.

“So you weren’t convinced of the Death Eater’s beliefs? Their world view?”

“As a rule, I’m not convinced of anything. – However, at a certain point in my life they seemed to present a solution, a lifeline. And I certainly knew what to tell them.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that … convictions don’t matter … they change … they are just … a front …”

“Nietzsche said that our views are the skin in which we want to be seen.”

“I’m not going to pretend that I know who that is, but it sounds about right. – You see, the only reason why I joined the Death Eaters was because for me it was the easiest way. Because I could. And it got me somewhere.”

“Is that a good enough reason?”

“Isn’t that the most common reason why people do anything?”

He was right, of course. The path of the smallest resistance. Easy choices, because you can. Wasn’t that the basis of most decisions taken on this planet? Everyone favours that which comes easiest to them because any other path will always be a bloody hassle. The only thing you had to do was to pick a set of opinions from the pool, a world view that suited your purposes.

“When did you come to regret it?” Elena asked, but in the next moment she realized that the answer was obvious. It must, of course, have been Lily Potter’s death. However, he surprised her.

“There was a point when everything started to coincide.” The catch was back in his voice and Elena felt that he had to force himself to say the words, but at the same time could not stop himself. “I had to take part in … something.”

“Something?”

“An attack.”

Elena held her breath. She clearly felt the new level of gravity in their conversation. She had become something akin to a priest for him, someone to confess to.

“It was an attack on a wizard family. Their name was McKinnon. Pure-bloods, but ‘deviants’, from _our_ adopted point of view, blood traitors.”

“Was the attack successful?”

Snape snorted. “They were completely wiped out.”

Elena swallowed. “And you …?”

“Yes”, he hissed. “I was there. On the scene. There was no way I could have gotten out of it. I’d been given an order, along with a friend, to search the house. Find documents that would give away the plans of the Order of the Phoenix, since the McKinnons were faithful members of it.”

“So you didn’t kill anyone?”

“No. Though I would have, if anyone had gotten in my way. That was part of it. But … I’d have done it cleanly, with an _Avada Kedavra_ , and not …” He broke off, shook his head. “I never took any …”

It took her a short while to complete his sentence. “… pleasure in brutality?”

He breathed. “Killing is one thing. Everyone must die. But what went on in the house that night … it was … _slaughter_ …” A strange noise came from his throat.

Impulsively, Elena stretched out her hand. A second later, it was in his and she could hardly have explained how it got there. Snape acted as if he hadn’t noticed, but his fingers closed over hers while he continued to stare into the moon-lit darkness of the room as if there was something particularly interesting in it. Again, Elena’s heart sped up. This was a crucial moment, she had never seen him like this – miserable and frank at the same time and with an obvious need to get things off his chest.

“Did you underestimate it? What a violent frenzy can do to people?”

“I knew that some of my … comrades had a habit of acting out.” He stopped abruptly, probably realizing that ‘acting out’ was a weak description for sadistic violence. “I guess I made myself believe that … due to their status … they would …” But again, he broke off.

“Behave themselves?” Elena suggested.

However, Snape shook his head. “No”, he breathed. “The truth is … I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to have to ask myself questions. If the path I’d chosen was false, when it seemed so right to me.” He turned his face to her suddenly and there was a twisted smile on it, all the more eerier due to the swollen flesh and broken skin. “I was his closest advisor, you see, even though I was very young at the time. He valued me – at least I thought so. When I joined, he took me aside and said ‘You and me, we are the same, both half-bloods, both unwanted kids, both made for something great’. He never told anyone he had a Muggle father. But he told _me_. – At the time, I had everything to gain from being a Death Eater.”

“Power”, Elena said. “Recognition. Love.”

He gave a curt nod. “I was fooled. Or maybe I fooled myself.”

“You paid for it”, she reminded him.

“Some things can never be paid for.”

“I don’t want to sound patronizing, Prof… Severus, but how were you able to live with yourself after …” She trailed off, but the end of the sentence – ‘after Lily had died’ – was obvious.

He gave a bitter laugh. “It took me over a year to figure that out. At first I wanted to …” Snape raised a flat hand to his throat and made a mock-cut gesture. “Then it came to me that this was too easy, that there could not possibly be any redemption if I took that short cut. So I made a deal with myself. To live on, at least until I had done what I had promised to do, and that my miserable life in the meantime should be my punishment.”

“ _Der Steppenwolf_ ”, Elena murmured.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s a book, one of my favourites.” ‘That I shall now never read again’, she added in her thoughts. “It’s about just such a pact that the protagonist makes with himself. He vows that he will stick it out until he’s fifty, and only then is he allowed to …”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Does he end up doing it?”

“No”, she shook her head, grinning. “Things get in the way. In the end he doesn’t want to. – It’s a really good book, I’m going to …” She abruptly shut her mouth.

“Lend it to me?” Another very crooked smile.

“Sorry. I forgot. – How can one forget such a thing?”

“Normal. Live believes in itself as long as it lasts.”

“You know an awful lot about life and death.”

“Got kind of hammered into me.”

Elena sighed. She really wanted to say ‘I don’t want to die’, but what effect would that have had, other than sounding weepy and self-pitying? Instead, with her hand still in Snape’s, she edged a tiny bit closer to him and laid her head back against the mattress above the bed frame. His fingers which had been ice-cold a moment ago gradually became warm and the warmth started to flow over into her body. She would have wanted to rest her forehead on his shoulder and cry. Of course, she didn’t.

“Your turn again”, he remarked drily after a few minutes. Had he sensed how maudlin she was?

“Huh?”

“Telling a story. I just told you much more than I had to.”

Again, she giggled. Tears and laughter were brother and sister in this strange last night. “Are you enjoying this?”

“I don’t enjoy anything much”, he informed her, “but it’s as good as it gets.”

So she launched into telling him about her childhood, about the uncounted times when she had done something ‘funny’ or ‘freakish’ and how she had dealt with it. How her parents, doctors and primary-school teachers had dealt with it. The story was sad, hilarious and completely absurd at the same time because it showed to what lengths people, herself included, will go to avoid an uncomfortable truth. Snape listened intently, but didn’t comment.

The moon climbed ever higher. Time passed by, stretching into aeons. Without really knowing it, they celebrated their last hours, and without realizing it, they did it in style.

 

* * *

 

Never in Severus Snape’s life had reality been so unreal. His head was swimming with it, the improbability of his position and it might have been a result of the punches he’d had to take. However, even without that there was a part of him that had taken a small step outside of his body, looking on incredulously on his situation. What he saw was a man with a disfigured face and aching bones, incapable of magic – no more than a Muggle, really – and with a beautiful girl by his side who was for some reason holding his hand, her thumb gently stroking his skin, observing him with what he might have interpreted as tenderness hadn’t he known that it was him she was looking at – an undeserving idiot with a knack for driving the women he cared for into certain death.

It was ludicrous, surreal, in the true sense of the word, as if he had entered a different reality, one which had nothing to do with the life he’d had so far. He should have resisted it, but he was aching, stripped of all confidence and too tired to fight.

Stop fighting then, something whispered to him from beyond. Just go with it, what options do you have, anyway?

Beside him, the girl shivered. Severus braced himself and with painful effort, he pulled his travelling cloak off his shoulders and wrapped her in it. Her grateful smile – strange how dazzling it was, even now – made his hand linger unnecessarily on her back. Also, he was acutely aware of her scent, although that was impossible since his broken nose was completely bunged up. It must be a trick of his mind.

“How can you be so serene?” he asked, following an impulse. That, too, was new and hence surreal. He wasn’t impulsive, full stop. The larger part of his life he had dedicated to controlling impulses. Here and now, however, in this strangely shifted reality – what did it matter?

“Am I?” she asked in a low voice, her lips splitting into another radiant smile. It did something to him, the way she talked and smiled, it touched him deep down.

“It appears so.”

“You expect me to rage and lament?”

“Would make more sense.”

“But would it help?”

He scoffed, but it wasn’t unkind.

“You’re probably right. I should be going mad. And I probably would if I was alone.”

He considered this. “Why is it that people seem to be better able to bear things if there’s another? After all – and I don’t mean to upset you – suffering and dying is an alone-thing. All essential things are.”

“Are you becoming philosophical, Severus?”

“There’s never been a better time.”

She leaned in. “Did you know that in ancient Greek there exist two concepts of time? – One is _chronos_ , as in ‘chronological’. Time as measurable quantity, seconds, hours, aeons. The other is _chairos_ , time quality. It’s the root of the word ‘horoscope’.”

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those Muggle women dabbling in astrology?”

“I’m not a Muggle.”

“We both are now. – But why the lecture on ancient Greek?”

“Because this moment in time has a special quality, doesn’t it? It’s quantity aspect doesn’t matter anymore. Instead, every second has become precious. A deviation from the usual drill. Complete awareness. Anything is possible.”

“Anything?”

She looked him in the eyes, smiled, nodded. Severus stared back, noticing that it had become impossible to take his eyes off her. The curve of her smiling lips was mesmerizing, the glitter in her eyes enthralling. He felt a twinge in his heart and a pronounced movement down south. The voice of reason he so coveted told him to watch out, but he hardly heard it, it was so faint.

Then he imagined her mouth coming closer, moon-lit lips, very slightly parted. They hovered over his for a while – he could even feel her hot breath on his face – before landing there like soft cushions, grazing first, then lingering for one … two … almost three seconds before withdrawing. An elaborate fantasy. It couldn’t be real.

Elena looked at him taxingly, her face serious. She was waiting for his reaction, but he was … not frozen, what he felt had nothing to do with coldness. Anyway, he was unable to move or do anything other than stare at her.

She kissed him again, more insistently. This time he knew it was real from the searing pain that shot through his cut lip, but he made himself stay still, not twitch. Her closed eye was in front of his field of vision, long black lashes on white skin, curve of cheek, dip of temple, arched black eyebrow. The pain receded and the sensation was replaced by the sweet crush of her lips and then, like a ghost, a flick of her tongue.

Severus’ conscious thought took a break as she withdrew her mouth. He could just have continued to gaze at her, mouth slightly open like a fool, yet he knew that he’d have to reciprocate or else she’d stop and he found he didn’t want that. So he leant forward clumsily, trying hard to keep his mind from interfering. His teeth crashed into hers, the stabbing pain roared up again, but it was nothing against the wave of shame that washed over him, and he drew back abruptly. But she didn’t let him, followed swiftly, caught his lower lip very, very gently, caressed it with another flick of tongue.

That was it.

A quantum leap.

Next thing, they were deeply into kissing, hands in each others hair, and he couldn’t tell how all this had become so moist so fast. The cut burnt like hell, but he imagined soothing balm, and her mouth tasted good, a little lemony, a hint of the coffee she liked so much, a more earthy echo of her scent. She seemed to like what she tasted, as well, because she kept coming back for more, sighing contently, so that he could almost believe that she had wanted this for a long time.

When they drew apart, breathless, he saw her radiant smile again. “I dreamt this”, she whispered. “Really, I did. Never knew it was a vision.”

“Did it end there?” he tried, but his throat was so parched his voice had almost no sound. She understood him anyway and answered by kissing him again, starting with gentle pressure and slowly increasing it, lips sliding apart. Severus moaned and slid back with her face in his hands against the frame of the bed. Hard edge dug into the back of his head, but he didn’t even feel it. He drew her close, encircled her in his arms – winced as his cracked rib protested sharply – and let her have his mouth since it was full access that she wanted. The voice of reason made one last attempt, but again he realized that it didn’t matter. This was their last night on earth. Time revealed its unique quality. Anything was possible.

 

* * *

 

Later, she stared into grey darkness – the moon had shifted position and politely stopped to stare into the small tower room – and slowly breathed in the seconds. Carefully, she kept herself from asking what time it was, how far away the morning, but focussed on the Here and Now instead, and everything that came with it. The steady rhythm of his breathing that was hot against the spot beneath her throat where he had buried his face; the feel of his hair between her fingers; the weight of his arm on her waist; the scent of his naked shoulders. She couldn’t have said how they had come to lie on this bed, under a flimsy blanket and the travelling cloak he had spread over them. The room was cold, but they weren’t. The heat of what had happened was still there, reminding her that this was real.

Yet, she had to replay it. After all, she wouldn’t let her mind hurry ahead. The pictures in her head were flashes, but each one sent a pleasurable jolt through her, accompanied by amused wonder. Had they really done all this? Kissed, teased, touched? And then … She sent her mind between her legs, checked for the soreness there, the sticky wetness on her thighs. Yes. No mistake.

She turned her head slightly, nuzzled against his temple that smelt of blood, sweat and rain. He sighed and drew her closer, grazed his lips against her sternum. Not asleep, just drowsy. She smiled and then, with her lips, traced a line over his temple, down his jawbone, to his neck and the edge of the angry scar he had there. It reminded her of her fingers working off his scarf, how he had wanted to stop her, anxious as to how she might react when she saw it, and his moan when she had touched it with the tips of her fingers and her lips. She remembered what those finger tips had done to him, how they had made him tremble, how he’d panted because he hadn’t been able to help himself. The skin of his chest and stomach, dusted with black hair and gleaming in the moonlight, dark bruises forming on it. She had learnt astonishing things, particularly that real wizards didn’t go in for underwear. Otherwise, however, the surprise had been pleasant.

She had got him to give up fighting. He’d let her have her way with him, watching her intently, except for when it had become too much and he’d closed his eyes, arching and sinking back into the rough sheet of the narrow bed, before they had opened again, fixing her, eagerly observing her every move. They had talked to each other that way, by eye contact, apart from sighs and moans.

The words had come later, and only after they had stared at each other incredulously across a small expanse of scratchy pillow. Then she’d been able to feel his mind starting to work again, it had been obvious in his eyes, the retreat, the embarrassment.

“I don’t know how … I never …”

It took her a few moments to understand. “I didn’t notice.”

He watched her intently, but said nothing.

“Why?” she asked because curiosity got the better of her.

“What do you mean?”

“Why didn’t you … I thought … roaming the streets with Death Eaters …”

He scoffed, then looked away, sadly. “I’m not that kind of man.”

She pressed herself against him, embracing him. “I know.”

He had slowly relaxed, breathing into her hair. They had stayed like this for quite a while, basking in the warmth of their bodies, drinking in each other. Elena had started to become comfortably sleepy, but after a while his touches and kisses had brought her around and she had noticed that he wanted her again. She’d let him roam and tease her body – sometimes he’d twitched with pain, but he had been determined to ignore it – kiss her from her neck to her nipples and down her stomach, and when she had been ready she had wrapped her leg around his hip and eased herself onto him, watched his face contort with pleasure as he slid into her. As before, he had challenged her to look into his eyes the whole time, and as before, they had breathed into each other’s mouths, finding a rhythm and letting themselves get swept away by it.

There had been no shame, only the imperative to be as close as possible and the knowledge that there was only one way to achieve that. They had understood that where there was no future, there was no need for embarrassment, either. That there would never be any strings, reproaches or broken promises attached. And that they would be connected for the puny rest of their lives.

 

* * *

 

“Where are you?” Severus asked from under her throat.

He heard her soft laugh and felt the vibration of it in her sternum. As he grazed the shores of her breasts with his lips, her skin broke into goose bumps, a process he watched in fascination. “I’ve been thinking …”, she murmured.

“Not a good idea.”

“No. Just that I’ve been wanting this. And never thought it would happen … _could_ happen.”

He considered this, her admission that she had wanted him all along. It seemed as unreal as anything that had happened in the last two hours or so. It was more like a joke, cruel and enchanting at the same time, especially now, so shortly before it was all over anyway. ‘What could have come of this?’, he asked himself. Would he have dared to try? To his surprise, he found that he very probably would have. With difficulty perhaps, but he wouldn’t have run away, not as long as she didn’t. Which she would have in the end, of that he was equally sure, once she had gotten over the infatuated misconceptions she appeared to harbour about him. And so – and it wasn’t for the first time that he arrived at that conclusion – everything was just as well. He’d have _this_ to take with him. Snape had the fleeting idea that maybe this had been the purpose of his earlier reprieve from death, but he rejected it as far too romantic.

“I don’t remember you trying to seduce me”, he said, talking against her skin.

“How could I have? You didn’t even notice when I tried to flirt with you”, she said and he heard the grin in her voice.

“I _did_ notice”, he insisted, but couldn’t help smiling. “I thought you did it by reflex.”

“A reflex brought on by an eligible male?”

“Not necessarily eligible.”

“By any male?”

He saw that he’d bantered himself into a corner. “I didn’t mean that you …”

“… that I would take my panties off for anyone?”

He looked up then, trying to make out her expression by the silvery cast of the moonlight. She smiled broadly. Relieved, he made a face. “We’ve made that point, haven’t we, that the Muggle world is more promiscuous.”

“If I remember correctly, you said that the wizarding world was _just as_ promiscuous. Even if more hung-up about it.”

“I think I said ‘more discrete about it’.”

“Well, if you have to doubt my morals, I hope you don’t doubt my discretion.”

“Even if I did, what would it matter now?”

“I’m not so brazen to not care what you think about me.”

He smiled at that. “Well, there’s your cheek, of course …”

“Oh, that’s just to keep your ego in check.”

“You feel appointed to do that?”

“Yeah, though it is certainly a dirty job.”

“You are aware, I hope, that I don’t usually let anyone talk to me like that.”

“I am. I’ve also been having the impression that you secretly enjoy being talked to like that.”

Severus watched the amused twinkle in her eyes. He realized then that somehow she got him in a way no one yet had, that she seemed to feel him. It delighted and at the same time worried him because it meant that she had more power over him than he would freely have admitted. Then he remembered, again, that it didn’t matter. The mind was a stubborn thing. It refused to accept the absence of a future. He felt a painful pang of regret. After musing for a while, he looked at her again and saw that Elena, too, was lost in thought. He lifted his finger and tapped at her forehead. ‘Penny for your thoughts’, it meant.

“Why do you think he broke your wand?” Her eyes went over to the spot on the sandy floorboards where the sorry fragments were lying. “I mean, if there is a ban on the entire tower, you couldn’t do anything with it anyway.”

“I guess it is because that disc up there blocks people magic, not the magic of items. Perhaps he fears that an intact wand might still do something that he doesn’t want to happen.”

“I wish I had my wand …”

“Are you sure he took it from you?”

“It’s gone. I looked everywhere. And who should have taken it, if not he? – Except for …”

“Yes?”

“There was that guy in the pub I went to with Komarek …”

“His name’s Leshnikov. Pavel Leshnikov. He is Bulgarian, not Polish, as he made you believe. – And you went to a _pub_ with him?” Snape tried to furrow his brows in spite of the pain any kind of grimace caused him.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes. We’ve already established that I was being stupid. – Anyway, there was that man who kept grabbing my ass …”

“Frequent occurrence in pubs, I believe”, Severus commented, thinking of his father who was the root of his prejudice on Muggle promiscuity. “Whatever. There may now be a Muggle somewhere with a stick. He won’t be able to do any harm with it. And at least it won’t get broken …”

“But why tonight, of all nights?”

“No use thinking about it”, he croaked. He knew the pitfalls of ‘what-if’ like no one else did. “It happened.”

“You’re right”, she sighed and snuggled up to him. She did it naturally, as a matter of course, seemingly unaware that this simple and affectionate motion was enough to make his heartbeat speed up. “Not good pillow talk, either.”

Carefully, she spread her arms over his chest, ever aware of his injuries. However, the pain had receded to the back of Snape’s mind, replaced by the immediate, the softness of her hair against his cheek, the crush of her breasts at his side, the miracle of her physical closeness. A good portion of the amazement that he had first felt when he had realized, with a jolt, that she wanted him came back and made him tingle. He groaned inwardly. She had done something to him, tapped into a hidden reservoir of desire that, once opened, seemed boundless. Severus battled with himself and finally resolved that he couldn’t possibly fall upon her again, no matter how much he would have liked to, that it would be asking too much. There was a vague prejudice at the back of his mind that women merely suffered this part, did it to please the men they wanted.

Elena, however, certainly hadn’t suffered, that much was clear. He remembered her eager fingers, fumbling off his scarf, working on the buttons of his robes. With a sardonic smile, she had dismissed his feeble and non-verbal attempts at stopping her, telling her that she didn’t have to. She had wanted to, had taken the initiative, first undressing him, then herself, presenting her body without shame or hesitation. Her fingers and lips had explored his body, licking, teasing, while he’d been dumbstruck, doomed to passivity, no longer master over himself. He remembered her straddling his crotch, pushing herself onto him, her hips gyrating slowly and gently first, giving him the chance to adjust, to catch his breath, only to rob him of it again by accelerating the rhythm, driving him deeper into herself, her head thrown back, her moon-lit breasts swaying. Her crying out his name had been his undoing, as if reminding him that it was really he, Severus Snape, that these things were happening to, improbable as it seemed.

He’d been more than a little embarrassed about the quick ending. However, Elena had collapsed on top of him with a happy sigh, kissing his face and the scar on his neck, her slim back bathed in sweat. He’d held her in his arms, in desperate search for his composure and waiting for her to draw back, stare at him with chagrin and incredulity at her momentary folly. However, that hadn’t happened. Instead she had sighed into his hair, the nick of his neck, “That was nice … really, really nice …”

Try mind-blowing. He’d still been shaking with it at that point. He’d also realized then that she was experienced at this, that she knew her body and how to find pleasure. The implication of this had been another stab of embarrassment to him. So far in their dealings with each other, he had been the one in charge, the teacher, the master. Now the roles were reversed and he hadn’t yet been able to decide whether he liked it or not. Which was exactly why he’d had to have her again only a short while later, to regain some degree of control. However, it had been futile. Her sighs and moans, her hands on his body, her melting looks and half-open lips, the way she’d pushed her hips towards him had been too much, had unmasked his desire for domination as a beautiful illusion. He’d had to admit to himself that this might be a battle that he’d continuously loose and since it was the atmosphere of the moment, anyway, he’d stopped fighting.

Thinking of all this made his blood pump faster through his body and he felt his skin become more sensitive, cry out to be touched. Her warm breath on his shoulder made the hairs stand up. Severus turned slightly towards her, his fingers gliding over her face, her neck, down to her breasts. Her eyes, however, remained closed. Behind the lids, the apples of her eyes were rolling. She had fallen asleep, from one second to the other, with the sweet abandon of a child. It made him smile and he watched her for a while, surprised at the tender things and names that came up in his mind.

And eventually, after his body had calmed down at the sight of the sleeping girl beside him, exhaustion overtook him, as well, and he dozed off, face buried in her hair, letting the rhythm of her breathing drag him down the velvety spiral staircase of dream …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	31. Travels with Novikov

**Travels with Novikov**

 

Elena woke up with a start, so suddenly in fact that she sat upright on the bed, and it took her a few seconds to realize where she was and to remember what had happened. The images of the dream she’d just had were already receding and slipping from her grasp. She held on to them desperately, although part of her became acutely aware of the sleeping man beside her and the tenderness for him that was making itself felt. But she mustn’t. She had to remember the dream. It was important, she knew it with the same kind of certainty that she knew that the sun would rise in the East, and she knew it had been a vision.

What had she seen?

A pair of huge eyes, staring up at her adamantly and also reproachfully. Droopy ears and a dirty tea towel, hands stretched out towards her and in them a strange item that loosely resembled a nut cracker.

“It’s a ban breaker.” Elena heard the squeaky voice in her head as clearly as if it had spoken to her directly. “It breaks any curse, any spell. Surely, only a wizard beyond reproach could possess something like this …”

Gilly, the house elf. She had dreamt of her and the feeling remained with Elena that the little creature had tried to prove a point, convince her of something.

Elena’s skin was tingling. A ban breaker. Sounded like exactly the thing she’d need right now to get them out of here, to help in their hopeless situation. Excitement flushed her cheeks. Could there be something to it? Was there really a ban breaker in Snape’s house, and if so, did Gilly know about it?

Her head was crammed with thoughts that chased each other. Doubt crept in, as well. The certainty she had felt immediately after waking up receded. Maybe it _had_ been just a dream. How could it have been a vision, after all? She was here, couldn’t get out, and in the morning she and Snape were going to die. How was she to get to his house that seemed further away than ever right now? How could there even be a chance of the dream come true? There couldn’t.

Confused she climbed out of bed, walked over to the sink and filled a cracked cup with water which she drank down eagerly. Only then did she feel how bloody cold the cramped tower room was. Her nipples protested fiercely, her naked skin broke into goose bumps. Yet, she ignored it, walked over to the window and gazed outside. The night was still thick, no trace of dawn. She saw the sea, now quiet and almost unmoving, its surface like a mirror that reflected a moon half-hidden behind fleeting clouds, the crush of waves reduced to a mere lap against the rocky shore.

Maybe it had been just an ordinary dream. It hadn’t felt like it, in fact, it had felt far more significant. But a dream that couldn’t be put into reality could hardly be a vision. It was more probable that her situation had made her more receptive, putting her on edge, and that as a result a normal dream had acquired an intensity it would not normally have.

But what if?

What _if_?

“Elena.”

She turned away from the window and looked towards the bed.

He had propped himself up on his lower arms, his voice sounded sleepy and his hair hung tangled in his face. In spite of herself she smiled, filled the cup again and walked over to the bed. She was aware of his eyes on her and sat down on the edge, handed him the cup which he took with a grateful nod, swiftly gulping down the liquid. Elena watched him thoughtfully. Should she tell him about her dream? Should she deal out hope when there was none?

Just to be sure, she got up, walked over to the door and tried it. Still locked, of course. Then she walked the length of the room, searching the wall for hidden doors which didn’t exist.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Checking whether we’ve overlooked something.”

“We haven’t”, he claimed. His voice sounded a little amused. He was clearly enjoying watching her padding around naked. She turned to him, grinned, came towards the bed.

“Hope is a bitch”, she sighed.

“I know”, he said simply, his eyes travelling over her body hungrily.

It made her laugh. “Again??”

His eyes fluttered and he looked shame-faced. “You don’t have to prance around like this …”

“You’d rather I didn’t?”

The corners of his mouth twitched, he didn’t know what to say. He was a little hung-up, she noted. Smoothly and under his watchful eyes, she eased herself onto the bed and under the provisional cover that the thin blanket and his travelling cloak provided. His hot body greeted her and the warmth jumped over within a matter of seconds. Not only the warmth.

“I just thought”, he said, voice low and husky, “that we could make better use of what little time …”

“I got it”, she breathed and sneaked her arms around his waist. “And I think you are right.”

She kissed him gently at first, but the kiss quickly became more passionate. Her head dove down under the improvised covers as her lips caressed his chest, his stomach, and even further down. He groaned, his body responding promptly. It infected her like a disease and she felt her own hunger, though it wasn’t her mouth that started to water.

‘It wasn’t a vision’, she told herself. ‘How could it be, if there’s no bloody chance of getting out of here?’ A voice, also her own or maybe that of the parrot on her shoulder held against: ‘You used to think that before …’ – ‘But how’, she replied, ‘just how?’ – ‘Wait and see’, said the parrot that was her mind.

The exchange in her head had left her momentarily inattentive. Severus sensed it and used it. He caught her wrists, flipped her on her back and eased himself onto her, kissing her madly, her mouth, her neck, her breasts. His fingers caressed her stomach, traced the curve of her hips, slid to the insides of her thighs, circling, travelling up and stumbling over a swelling and throbbing nob in its folds. The discovery might have surprised him, but instinctively he knew what to do with it, how to work it gently with the tips of his fingers after she had moistened them for him with a lick of her tongue. Now it was her turn to moan, to whisper his name, to give herself to him. The images of the dream were quickly drowned in pleasure, and a few seconds later she had forgotten them …

 

* * *

 

A disc gleaming in the weak light of a stormy morning with a faint glimmer only just rising its head behind a steel-grey horizon. The shine intensified swiftly until it burned red-hot and it seemed to come out of the thing itself. Time appeared to be suspended for several seconds. Suddenly, the disc exploded, shattered into myriads of sparks and black ash …

Once again, Elena woke up with a jolt, staring about herself in confusion. Same tower room, same bed, same greyness, although it seemed a little lighter. Beside her, Severus was snoring into the scratchy pillow, sleeping the sleep of exhaustion.

She sat up. Another dream, so intense as if it was urging her, trying to tell her something. She remembered the other dream, her conversation with Gilly. Was all this a coincidence? Was her unconscious so afraid of dying that it sent her those dreams, teasing her, giving her the hope of a way out? But there _was_ no way out, she reminded herself.

Elena let out a heavy sigh and fell back onto the bed.

Ouch!

She only just stopped herself from crying out. Something was poking painfully into her back. She turned, trying to examine the source. Their upper bodies were enveloped in Severus’ travelling cloak while their legs made do with the flimsy blanket. It must be something about the cloak. A button maybe. Strange that even so close to death one would care so much about comfort.

Elena fumbled with the cloak, trying to find out what it was. Not a button. Those were only at the top of the cloak, close to the collar. No, what had poked her must be something stuck in one of the pockets.

More out of unsuitable curiosity and because she wanted to keep her mind from imminent death, she carefully lifted the cloth of the cloak, found the pocket and rummaged in it. Yes, there was something. Something hard with defined edges. Her hands grabbed a chain.

Even before she withdrew the offending item, her heart lurched because she realized what it was. The Time Turner. It lay in her hand, innocently, the hourglass in its sphere, the golden chain attached to it. So he’d had it in his cloak pocket all along, probably forgotten about it; Severus Snape of all people, who was always so neat and tidy – not with himself perhaps, but with his personal items, particularly if they held magic.

Again, Elena sat up and stared at the Time Turner which had been her best friend for weeks. Was that it? Was that the escape she needed? Was this the way how she would meet Gilly and obtain the ban breaker, how she would manage to make the disc shatter that banned all magic in this tower?

Her inner turmoil was colossal. There was doubt, there was fear. There was the question whether she should wake him up and tell him. But no, she couldn’t. If what she thought might be true was really true and if her dream had indeed been a vision, she must do this alone. She had been alone in the dream with Gilly, of that she was sure. And there was something else …

As carefully and quietly as she could, Elena slipped out of bed, Time Turner held tightly in her hand. She went over to the window and looked out towards the sea. The horizon was still so dark that it was difficult to tell sky from water, however, no longer pitch black, but a very dark grey. This was the first of November, so when would the sun rise? Seven-ish, maybe?

Thoughts raced through her mind, Ifs and Hows. She realized that in order to be out of here, she would probably have to go at least ten hours back in time, twelve to be sure, in strict breach of Time Turner regulations. It sent a shiver down her spine. The result would be unpredictable, the risk of setting off an alternative reality immense.

She looked back towards the bed at the sleeping figure. No, she couldn’t tell him. He wouldn’t let her go, would tell her that it was foolish, too dangerous. All good and well for him, he had died before, had even wanted it. He probably didn’t mind as much as she did. But if anything, the last hours had proven to Elena what a miraculous thing life was, how unexpected and enchanting its twists, and that she didn’t want to let it go under any circumstances.

She made up her mind, not allowing herself to think too much. She had to go. She would. If her dreams meant anything, if she did in fact have visions (like the one of her kissing Severus, which had actually come true only a few hours ago), then this was her only chance. They were going to die anyway. Did it really matter in which manner?

Quickly, before fear got the better of her, she padded across the floorboards towards the bed and looked for her scattered clothing. Underwear, jeans, blouse, boots. She slipped quickly into it, repeatedly checking on Snape, but he was out like a light. When she was dressed, Elena hung the Time Turner around her neck and paused, standing over him. She didn’t dare kiss him since it might wake him up, although she longed to do it and a painful longing it was. She hoped that he wouldn’t wake up before she was back, that he wouldn’t find himself alone and deserted, with the prospect of death hanging over him. Elena thought of leaving him a message, but she had neither paper nor pen and no time, either. If she wanted to do this, she had to do it now.

She took a deep breath and the Time Turner into her hand. For a brief moment, she wondered whether it would work. It was, after all, a magical item and magic had been banned in this place. But it wasn’t a _dependant_ item. She distantly remembered one of Severus’ tedious instructions on the thing, how some magical objects such as wands can only be worked by a witch or wizard, while a Time Turner was entirely different. Komarek’s – or, rather – Leshnikov’s ban might only block people magic, which was why he’d snapped Severus’ wand in half. And which was also – as she remembered with another jolt – why Pavel Leshnikov had so frantically searched for her Time Turner when he had kidnapped her. So there was a good chance …

Elena bade her mind stop. It was no use analysing these things. She would know in a minute.

So she braced herself, cast a last long look at Snape – maybe this was the last she would ever see of him – blew him a kiss through the air that he would probably never know about, and took the Time Turner in her hand. With trembling fingers, she spun the hourglass in its sphere. Once … twice … three times … until she had counted to twelve.

For a brief second, time felt suspended and its quality hesitant. She was half-convinced that it hadn’t worked, and half-relieved, as well. Then a violent jolt went through her body and she lost the ground under her feet. Her stomach lifted and there was a strong draw, a maelstrom, a wormhole, sucking her into its core. Inadvertently, she started to pray in her mind, the remnants of her Catholic upbringing suddenly resurfacing.

In the next moment, Elena Horwath had disappeared from the dismal little tower room …

 

* * *

 

When she came too, she felt dizzy and found it difficult to focus. She was almost able to observe reality setting itself together in front of her eyes, though quivering in the process as if it didn’t know how to turn out, whether to be wave or particle. When it had finally reached a degree of stability – though having a shaky feeling about it – Elena recognized the well-known reception of the dancing school she taught in. The desk was deserted, but there was music coming from the ballroom and she heard voices. A boy and a girl arguing. Harry and Ginny.

Quickly, Elena dove behind the reception desk. Her head spun, her heart beat madly. She’d made it. She was here. Twelve hours into the past and still breathing, at least for the time being. If she survived this, she would write a book, ‘Travels with Novikov’. However, this was only the first stage of the journey.

She peered carefully into the ballroom from behind the desk. Sure enough, she saw the young wizarding couple still arguing about how to set their feet and who was to blame for trampling accidents. And she saw herself, leaning against the stereo and indulging in a very sardonic grin.

‘Am I really that arrogant?’ she thought. Seeing herself from the outside was a very peculiar experience and it increased the nausea in her stomach. Her head started to spin and cold sweat broke out on her forehead. To steady herself, she gripped the edge of the desk. ‘What’s happening to me?’ she asked herself, but of course she knew that it was the unstable reality that bothered her so much. What she was doing here was a very heavy impact on the existing equilibrium and it was making itself felt. She remembered quite a lot of what she had read a few months ago – after Severus had given her the Time Turner – about quantum physics, time travel and theories on the stuff reality was made of. She had been far from understanding it, but she sensed more than she could tell with certainty that she had to be very careful. The Time Turner rules that Severus had made her learn by heart applied doubly now, probably multiply. Under no circumstances must she let herself be seen, not by herself – that was a given – but not by others, either. On seeing Harry in the studio, a half-assed idea had come up in her head about accosting him and Ginny on the street, explaining, asking for help. Now she realized that she must not do this. The danger of upsetting events, of entering an alternative reality was too great, the thought of leaving Severus behind in the original one, doomed to burn to death, too harrowing. Even if she entered an alternative version in which he survived, she would always know that she had left him behind in the first one.

Feeling dizzy and forlorn, she stared at Harry and Ginny – and herself – in the ballroom. It was a horrible feeling, having help so close at hand and not being able to make use of it. Whether she liked it or not, she had to go, had to find Gilly and the ban breaker. If it existed; however, at this point she was almost sure it did.

Elena cast one last look into the studio. Took in herself, strutting around – yes, she _did_ strut – demonstrating steps, explaining. This other, earlier Elena seemed very sure of herself. She did not know what was to come. She had not yet had to fear for her life. She hadn’t had sex with Severus Snape, either …

Abruptly, she pushed the thought out of her mind and immediately it was replaced by another one. Looking at her younger self and contemplating whether she would like to switch places had given her an idea. In fact, the earlier Elena did have one thing that her present self had not: A wand.

An idea formed in her mind. A thrill went through her and a mental curtain was drawn aside. Had her wand really been stolen by Komarek? By the beefy guy called Jims in the pub? Or maybe …

‘But how can I know?’ she asked herself, realizing almost simultaneously that she couldn’t. It wasn’t fixed yet. Schrödinger’s cat all over again. Until you opened the box, the beast could be either alive or dead, both options existed, reality was ambiguous and could play out either way.

There was, however, one thing that she could do. It was no more than an attempt, failure implicit. However, she decided that she had to try out what little options she had.

So Elena sneaked towards the reception desk, head and back bowed, and found a stack of sticky notes as well as a pen. Hurriedly, she scribbled.

 

_Help me. This is a matter of life and death. Find the Tower at Hogwarts. Sunrise, no earlier. Prepare yourself for fire and a wizard of considerable power. You are my only hope. I’m even upsetting time for it and as you know, that is no joke. – Elena_

 

She found the wardrobe and Harry’s jacket hanging on a peg. She slipped the sticky note into the pocket. There was, of course, no telling whether he would find and read it in time, or at all. It was a very threadbare safety net. But at least it was something.

 

* * *

 

She sneaked outside and waited in the cold, rubbing her arms that stuck in nothing more but the flimsy blouse. Yet, she was sweating from nervousness and nausea. Halloween folks bustled about on the street, but she paid no attention to them. However, she was glad for the crowds which helped her to hide herself.

From afar, she watched herself, Harry and Ginny coming out of the dancing school and wishing each other good-bye. It made her remember the invitation to the party at their friend’s house. If only she had taken it. Komarek wouldn’t have been able to find her there and would hence have had no means of pressuring Snape into coming for her. Again, regret threatened to overwhelm her. If only, if only …

Elena violently shook herself out of the self-pity. Then she followed her earlier self down the road, observing bitterly how self-satisfied this twelve-hour-younger Elena looked who didn’t know what lay ahead. Plus, _that_ Elena had a warm jacket and little to complain about. Approximately five minutes later, the older Elena saw Komarek’s car gliding up to the curb, honking. Bile rose in her throat as she saw her other self turn around and smile. Stupid bitch!

Komarek leant out of the car window. The bastard! If only she could kill him now! But – impossible without a wand. Even more impossible due to her time-travelling plight. She must not dabble with events that had been the reason for her present situation. However, she had to admit to herself that this sucked big time.

She observed her other self climbing into Komarek’s car and take off. The pub was a twenty-minute walk away, a long journey through the cold. She gritted her teeth, hugged herself and struck out in a firm pace to get warm by exercise. Still the chilly Halloween night soon crept into her bones and eventually into her heart. Desperation lurked and threatened to take her over. What was she thinking she might achieve, anyway? The only thing that kept her going was the memory of Severus Snape, hopefully fast asleep in a lighthouse in a very different corner of this country. ‘Sleep well’, she spoke to him in her mind, ‘don’t wake up. And if you do, don’t doubt me. I’m coming for you. I’ll do everything in my power to get you out of this …’

The cold bit into her flesh. Once again, her fingers had become icicles and it didn’t help at all to rub them together. The chill crept to her core, no matter how fast she walked. In addition to that, the nausea was so strong it made her stumble clumsily along the street. A couple of young men passed her, grinning, probably thinking that she’d had a pint too many at this hour already.

Elena gritted her teeth, walked on. Talking to Severus in her mind helped. She started telling him all sorts of things, things that suddenly seemed important, about how they had become acquainted, how she had felt in every moment of their progressing relationship. She imagined him smiling – at least, now she knew how he looked when he did it. And she desperately wanted to see him smile again …

 

* * *

 

An hour later, she sat in a dark corner of the pub, slowly sipping a glass of Merlot – having resolved that it would only be this one – watching and waiting. It was not difficult to remain undetected by her earlier self and Komarek. They were both too busy with themselves, their importance and with entertaining that young French couple, Claudine and Hervé. In addition to that, there was the crowd in the pub, all the Halloween hubbub and good mood. Sometimes, she lost sight of herself with all the pressing and shoving bodies, but Elena knew that she was safe in her alcove because she knew that she hadn’t ventured in this corner of the pub earlier. All she had to do was bide her time. That, however, was difficult enough.

There was the nausea, for once. Sometimes she found it difficult to focus and her stomach reacted very sensitively to the red wine. The whole scenery in front of her eyes appeared to sway slightly or become as shaky as a bad television transmission. It increased when she allowed herself worrying thoughts, whether she would make it, for instance. It took her a while to realize this, but once she had sussed it out, Elena did her best not to think troubling thoughts. It was like not trying to think of a blue elephant. However, Severus had taught her exactly that – to focus, to only let the thoughts into her mind that she wanted to have there and send everything else in a sort of imaginary waiting room. She had never been very good at it. Now, however, at this hour of need she managed quite well. Willed herself to be calm. Reminded herself how it had been for Severus to meet Voldemort when he had had betrayal in his heart. She wanted to do her lover (how strange to think of him like _that_ ) proud. Even more, she wanted to get back to him.

There. She saw her earlier self, looking flushed and uncomfortable, discreetly fumbling with the sleeve of her blouse. This was the point when she had taken her wand out of the leather sheath and hid it in the back pocket of her jeans. It was her chance.

Quietly, she slipped from her seat in the alcove and, taking her time, pressed through the crowds. She had a shock when someone grabbed her arm.

“Hey!” A cloud of alcoholic breath hit her. Some guy, red-haired, his obviously sweaty body stuck in a gorilla costume, stared at her curiously. “Do you realize that there’s a girl over there looking _exactly_ like you?”

To her surprise, Elena found that nothing could shake her at this point. She smiled dazzlingly. “Yes”, she said as if it was the most natural thing in the world, “that’s my twin sister.”

Carrot-top grinned. “Why, you must be identical twins …”

“More than you can imagine”, she replied, patted the guy’s shoulder and pressed on.

She got closer and closer to her earlier self. Careful now, someone might realize. The guy called Jims, for example, who was standing next to the earlier Elena, involved in a drunken discussion with his mates. With one short glance, however, the older Elena realized that Jims was far too involved in the conversation to notice her older self or to even grab her younger one’s ass. He didn’t even look at the younger Elena. She’d got it all wrong. The older Elena couldn’t help giving a rueful grin about her own arrogance, how she tended to think that all men were after her – all but the one that interested her. The exact opposite had turned out to be true. What a laugh.

And now that she knew who had grabbed her ass – her very _own_ ass – earlier, everything came much easier to Elena. She knew she would make it. Walk out of this pub with her own wand in hand. And, if possible, with her own jacket …

An in swift movement, she slipped by behind her younger self’s back. Her fingers came nearer to her own behind – she couldn’t help noticing that it was quite a bit fleshier than she would have liked it to be – and slipped under the rim of the blouse. He felt for the wand, its smooth surface. The younger Elena moved, the wand slipped from the older Elena’s fingers. Drat!

She tried again, more forcefully this time. Grabbed the wand and ripped it out of the jeans pocket.

“For fuck’s sake!” she heard herself hollering angrily. Rapidly, she pressed past a group of punters, hid, and allowed herself a quick glance backwards.

No one had noticed her. Her younger self was far too busy with being angry at the unwitting Jims, while Komarek, Claudine and Hervé were watching the heated exchange. The older Elena breathed and dashed towards the corridor that led to the bathrooms …

 

* * *

 

“You’re not supposed to go through here”, the guy in the storage room wearing the vampire costume informed her. She knew him already, which was why she smiled at him kindly.

“I know.”

“No, seriously. This is for staff only.”

“Can I just walk through to the back yard?”

“I’d rather you didn’t …”

“Oh, please?”

A hesitant pause during which he surveyed her doubtfully. “Alright, luv. But don’t tell your friends.”

“I won’t. – And don’t be too angry with me if I do it again in about half an hour …”

“Now wait a minute …”

But Elena had already dashed past him towards the concrete stairs, out into the courtyard, starry heavens above her. She breathed with relief. Her own jacket was warming her – she had stolen it from the peg on her way out – and in the pocket of it, gripped firmly in her fingers, was her wand. Swiftly, she walked through the alleyway, trying not to think about how she had got kidnapped here earlier – or rather, how she would get kidnapped here in about thirty minutes. Anger or worry would only increase her nausea and she had to concentrate on a very difficult task right now: Apparating. Flawlessly. Outside of Severus Snape’s house.

That worried her, she couldn’t help it. She willed herself to breath naturally – though, of course, ‘intentionally’ and ‘naturally’ were ill allies – to ban all her worry from her mind. Again, thinking of Severus and the Dark Lord helped her. Snape had become her patron saint in this endeavour, the model to look up to.

Elena closed her eyes, concentrated on the dilapidated house in Spinner’s End in as much details as she could, the joyless windows, the sad grey cobbled street, the smashed lamps, the chemical smell of the murky river nearby. Destination, deliberation, determination – and all that crap. Then, finally, holding her breath, she gave her wand a determined shake.

There was a sharp crack and she was gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	32. Gilly

**Gilly**

 

The whirl of colours seemed to take forever, tossing and turning her about, and for the smallest fraction of a second, Elena feared that she would never touch down. When she eventually did, stumbling onto the cobbled street, retching and eyes burning, the first odd thing she felt was a painful sting at her left ear and hand. She regained control of herself, forgot the pain for a moment because she realized with immense relief that this was in fact the cul-de-sac where Severus always took her to Dis- or Re-Apparate. It lay in half-darkness, illuminated only by the flickering light of a weak streetlight. She had made it to Spinner’s End.

Then, however, the pain made itself felt again. It was more like a burning itch and she looked down at her left hand. Drat! The top member of her pinkie finger was missing. The injured hand went up to her ear to find that the lobe was gone, as well, and when she withdrew her fingers, there was a little blood on them. She had splinched herself, again, and there was no kindly Apparition instructor to put the missing body parts back on. This would be permanent. However, it might have been worse. She bit down on the pain, told herself that this was nothing, that it didn’t matter. Battle scars.

She waited for a few minutes until she felt steadier and her ragged breathing had calmed down. Yet, her heart was still beating madly. Slowly she advanced towards Snape’s house, passing her own home where the sitting room windows were illuminated by a bluish flicker, probably Anna watching _Who wants to be a millionaire_. For a few seconds, Elena was tempted to ring the bell and inform her aunt not to worry if she came home late, very late indeed, but it was impossible, another upsetting of the continuum.

So she walked on quietly until she had reached Snape’s front door. The house looked dark and forlorn, as if nobody was home. However, as Severus had once explained to her, “a house-elf is always at home”. Yet, Elena paused for a long time before she dared to knock. In her mind, she was reliving her dream, the one in which Gilly had shown her the ban breaker and told her in an adamant and reproachful way that certainly only a wizard beyond reproach would have such an item. It had sounded as if the little creature had tried to convince her of something.

Elena realized that not only was it a great risk to talk to anyone in the present circumstances, but in addition she could not let on that she was time-travelling. The more natural the situation would seem to Gilly, the likelier things were going to run smoothly. Also, she had to try to re-enact the dream situation as faithfully as possible, get the house-elf into a position where she would willingly show her the ban breaker. It took Elena a few more minutes to make up her mind on how to do this. Then she squared her shoulders and knocked.

No answer.

She knocked again, louder this time.

The third time round, her knock was a loud banging.

After the eternity of half a minute, the front door opened a crack and a pair of large eyes stared up at her.

“Hello Gilly”, Elena said brightly, brushing forth a thick strand of hair to hide the remnants of her left ear. “How are you tonight?”

“The master is not here”, the house-elf informed her as tersely as always and Elena saw that she was ready to shut the door in her face.

“I know”, Elena said quickly, “I was hoping to speak to _you_.”

The large eyes became even wider. “What does the Muggle girl want from Gilly again? - Last time the Muggle girl bring the Time Turner, the master get very angry.”

“I told you before, I’m not a Muggle”, Elena reminded her with a sigh. “And let’s face it – your master likes to get angry. It’s how he lets off steam. You shouldn’t take it personally.”

Gilly hesitated. There was a haughty expression in her face, but also a twitch of uncertainty. Quite obviously, she didn’t like to be counselled. She still didn’t know what to make of Elena, either, who used the doubt.

“May I come in?”

“Master Snape is at the school …”

“I’m aware of that”, Elena said, putting impatience and authority into her voice. “I assure you, he wouldn’t mind. After all, I have been here numerous times, haven’t I?”

Gilly blinked. Then, gingerly, she stepped back and the crack in the door widened. Elena took a deep breath and entered the recently-not-so-dusty hallway. “What does the Muggle witch want?” Gilly asked belligerently.

Elena took a deep breath. She could only hope that this would play out the way she had planned. For a few seconds, she stared at the floorboards. Then, in a voice that sounded a little rueful, she said “I need your advice.”

Gilly turned a blank face to her. “Advice?” It sounded almost like a nervous hiccup.

“Yes”, Elena tried for a very serious expression when she turned to the house elf. “Because, you see, I’m confused and I don’t know what to do.”

The small creature’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. She surveyed Elena with a look of ill-disguised contempt. “It’s no use asking Gilly. She is only a house-elf. The Muggle witch must ask my master if she don’t know what to do. He is a powerful and very clever wizard, he will know.”

“That’s precisely my problem”, Elena broke in. “Because, you see, my doubts concern Professor Snape. And I’m afraid that only you can help me right now.”

The huge eyes became slits. “Why is that?”

“Well, you see”, Elena went on, choosing her words carefully. “As you may know, I have only been a witch for a few months. I didn’t know, you see. It was Professor Snape who realized what I was and ever since he has considered it his duty to teach me.”

“My master is a good teacher”, Gilly said matter-of-factly, implying that Elena’s successes as a witch had nothing to do with herself, but were entirely Snape’s merit.

“And a formidable wizard”, Elena said with a little bow of her head, thinking that some mollycoddling might help her.

“The Prince family are very powerful”, Gilly explained matter-of-factly.

“Have you served them for a long time?”

Gilly nodded. “Gilly was born into their service”, she explained curtly, then gave Elena a pointed look, clearly indicating that she need not know more.

However, Elena was not prepared to let it drop. “So in your view, they are above reproach?”

“Why is the Muggle witch asking such questions?” Gilly hissed irritably.

Elena looked back at her calculatingly. “Because the exact opposite has been put to me.”

A crease appeared above the house-elf’s nose. “The Muggle witch must explain better.”

“You see”, Elena began, “I trusted Professor Snape. He took me on as his student, after all, and at the time I didn’t know any other wizards …”

The look of slight contempt on Gilly’s face changed into one of indifferent pity.

“… so it will not surprise you that I trusted him. Thought that he had good intentions. A Professor at that, teaching at such a prestigious school … Well, suffice to say I thought he was alright.”

“The Muggle witch is very lucky to have a teacher such as my master”, the house-elf informed her with a shrug.

Elena folded her arms across her chest and tilted her head. She put on a slightly exaggerated frown. “Are you going to tell me that you don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“What is being said about your master.”

Sure enough, Gilly started to fidget. It was the effect that Elena had hoped to achieve. Make her nervous, and goad her into defending Snape by all possible means.

However, Gilly regained her composure quite quickly. “No one can say anything bad about my master”, she claimed haughtily. “He is powerful and brave. Everybody know. Even the Muggle witch should know.”

“Certainly no one can doubt his power”, Elena said evenly. “The concerns that have been put to me relate to his character.”

“His character?” Gilly repeated, clearly puzzled as if she didn’t know what that term signified.

“Well, whether he is a good or bad person”, Elena explained.

“Of course the master is good”, Gilly replied, but there was uncertainty in her voice. Elena understood then that ‘good’ and ‘bad’ were difficult concepts for a house-elf who was raised to believe that the family they served was good, no matter how bad they were. Quickly, she reconsidered and put on a strict face.

“You must have heard what is being said”, she put to the house elf, trying to sound castigating. “That he served the dark forces. Committed crimes. He used to be the Dark Lord’s advisor. Am I wrong?”

Unconsciously, Gilly started to wring her hands. “The Dark Lord valued my master”, she said curtly.

“Not exactly a recommendation these days, is it?” Elena raised her eyebrows coolly, earning a dark glowering look from the house elf.

“The Muggle witch shouldn’t talk about things she know nothing about.”

“I have heard it time and again”, Elena argued. “Professor Snape was a Death Easter, wasn’t he? In the top ranks, in fact.”

“There used to be times when that would have been an honour to any wizard”, Gilly replied dismissively. “But times keep changing. What is right one day is wrong the next. – And Gilly is only a house elf.”

“I see”, Elena said with a sarcastic smile. “So now you claim to be nothing but a house elf, not knowing about those things. But just one minute ago you ensured me that Professor Snape was a good person. Someone to be trusted.”

“He is!” By now, Gilly was impatiently shuffling her feet. “Why is the Muggle witch suddenly doubtful? She has trusted my master before!”

“Yes, but I may have been misguided. – Again, I knew nothing at first. I trusted him. Now, however, after all the things I’ve heard, I am not so sure.”

“This is nonsense!” Gilly exclaimed, immediately clamping her mouth shut, seemingly shocked by her own outburst.

“Is it?”

“People say all sorts of things. The Muggle witch must not believe everything.”

Elena looked at her taxingly. “So I am not to believe that Professor Snape is a traitor and a murderer?”

“A murderer!” Gilly’s eyes became huge with scandal. “This is not true! My master would never …”

“I have been told that he killed a man. Albus Dumbledore. This is not a secret. It can be read in all the wizarding papers.”

“Dirt”, spat Gilly, “the papers write dirt! They are slandering my master. One day they say he is very brave. The other day they say he is a traitor. Dirty lying rags …”

“So you _do_ know? You _have_ heard about the things that are being said about Professor Snape?”

The fidgeting started anew, but then the little creature pulled herself together and made another attempt at haughtiness. “Gilly know what to believe. She do not fall for lies.”

Elena forced a benign smile onto her lips. “I understand you, Gilly, quite well, actually. Professor Snape is your master, and since you are a good and loyal house-elf, you cannot say anything bad about him. It is only natural that you would entirely dismiss reality …”

“Gilly not dismiss!!” The hiccup was back. “The Muggle witch should be ashamed of herself! She benefit greatly from my master, my master teach her everything he know …”

“Everything he knows? Only a small portion so far, I should think …”

“Why, maybe this is because a Muggle brain is not very big! Not enough space for such a lot of magic!”

“Oh, well, thank you very much”, Elena sighed. “However, this is not a question of brain capacity. It’s quite enough to read papers. Your master served the Dark Lord, then he switched allegiance and pretended to serve Albus Dumbledore. Who trusted him, by the way, only to get himself killed at the moment when he was most frail and vulnerable!”

It hurt her a little to be talking like this about Severus. However, she saw no other way of getting Gilly to embark on a passionate defence and eventually offer some prove. She decided to top her last statement. “You see, from where I am standing it looks as if Professor Snape might be a turncoat. Serving the master that was most promising at any given time. I am not entirely sure whether this is what a powerful wizard does …”

“No, no, no!” Gilly wailed plaintively. “The Muggle witch has it all wrong! She must not go about and say such things!”

“Because they are true?” Elena cocked an ironic eyebrow.

“They are not!” The house-elf’s voice was trembling with anger. “Yes, my master serve the Dark Lord. At the time, a very wise decision which make my mistress very proud of her son …” Gilly broke off, realizing that she had begun to gossip about the family’s true allegiance. Swiftly, and unexpectedly, she struck herself with a rigid flat hand. Elena could only just keep her jaw from dropping when she saw it. For a few seconds, she was at a loss for what to say next. Then, however, she decided to use Gilly’s discomfort and drive her further into a corner.

“So the intrepid Mrs Snape is quite a fan of the Dark Lord, isn’t she?”

“No!” Gilly shouted adamantly. “Mistress Prince is a good witch, a powerful witch, she … it is only … the Dark Lord betrayed us all … my master, too … set his snake on him … horibble, magical snake … left him for dead …”

“Yes”, Elena broke in, “I have heard about that, too. It doesn’t change the fact that Professor Snape served the Dark Lord. Only because he was betrayed by him in the end doesn’t absolve him now, does it, he still chose the wrong side, went along with criminals …”

“The Muggle witch doesn’t know what she is saying!” Gilly flared, embarrassment having been replaced by anger in a wink. “She try to get Gilly to say terrible things … horrible things about my master …”

“I am just trying to find out whether what has been said to me is true”, Elena defended herself coolly. “Put yourself in my position! I don’t know what to think anymore! After all, this man is my teacher. What I need is proof, Gilly! Proof that Professor Snape is not the monster that a lot of people say he is …”

“He is not a monster!”

“I bet Dumbledore would say something entirely different, if he was still alive and had the chance …”

“Albus Dumbledore _valued_ my master!” Gilly hissed, now seething.

“Yeah? The man who killed him?”

“The master … did not …”

“Oh yes, he did!” Elena broke in savagely. “Severus Snape killed Albus Dumbledore, with an _Avada Kedavra_ , that’s a proven fact, everyone in the wizarding world says so …”

“Everyone is a fool! And Gilly tell the Muggle witch already, the papers write filthy lies!” Gilly’s voice sounded almost hysterical now and Elena felt that she was close to a breakthrough although she was only playing this by ear. However, intuition told her to continue to look doubtful. So she gazed at Gilly with the strongest frown she could bring to her forehead.

Something strange happened then. The house-elf considered her from head to toe. Then, suddenly, she stretched out her hand, the little fingers closing over Elena’s index finger firmly. “Come”, she said and motioned her towards the sitting room. “Gilly show the Muggle witch something.” It was in this moment that Elena realized that she had won.

“This better be convincing”, she murmured for good measure.

Gilly dragged her into the next room where she left Elena standing by the couch. With the agility of a house-elf, Gilly hopped on a ladder by one of the numerous bookshelves and while the ladder magically extended, she jumped ever higher until she reached the topmost shelf and got down a large box, a box almost bigger than the little creature itself. However, she balanced the item quite elegantly on her way down.

“The Muggle witch see this?”

“With both my eyes”, Elena confirmed, biting down on a smile. “What is it?”

“My master got this from _Albus Dumbledore_ ”, Gilly explained importantly while she set down the box on the coffee table.

Elena’s heart beat faster, but she struggled to keep the doubtful frown on her face. “How do you know?” she asked.

“Gilly clean the house.” It was rendered with a shrug. “She know where everything is.”

“And what’s in that box?”

“This is heirlooms”, Gilly hissed secretively. “Albus Dumbledore give this to my master.”

Elena drew her eyebrows together dramatically. “Are you telling me that Dumbledore thought of Professor Snape when drawing up his will?”

A rare smile crossed Gilly’s face. “The Muggle witch look at this.”

Slowly and reverently, Gilly took item after item from the box. “Merlin’s Code”, she whispered, presenting Elena with a book that indeed looked as if it was at least a thousand years old. “Very valuable. Very rare. – And Albus Dumbledore give it to _my_ master.”

“Nice.” Elena tried hard to sound unimpressed. “But … it’s only a book.”

Gilly sighed, then waved a hand as if she was aware of the fact that the ignorant Muggle witch couldn’t help it. “This!” She took out another book, title and author of which meant nothing to Elena. Gilly studied her indifferent expression and realized that she had to take the big guns out.

“And this!”

A glittering item that looked like a nut cracker. Elena’s heart raced as she recognized it. The thing looked exactly as in her dream, but she willed herself to continue to frown and even threw in a shrug.

“It is a ban breaker.” Gilly said adamantly and even a little reproachfully.

That was it.

Elena allowed herself a few seconds of confused incomprehension. Then she brightened. “A ban breaker?” she repeated with an expression of awe on her face.

“It breaks any curse, any spell. It is a very rare object and very valuable. Surely, only a wizard _beyond reproach_ could possess something like this …”

“Surely”, Elena repeated and made it sound like a breathless whisper. “And if Albus Dumbledore gave it to Professor Snape … as an heirloom …”

“… it means he trust him”, Gilly finished with a ferocious nod. “There is also this.”

The house-elf handed Elena a piece of parchment which she had gathered from the bottom of the box. Two entire pages were filled with an extravagant handwriting. “This is private”, Gilly said adamantly. “But Gilly give it to the Muggle witch, so that she can trust my master again. – But the Muggle witch must not tell …”

Elena shook her head quickly. “Don’t worry, I promise.” She took the parchment, feeling uncomfortable since this was in fact private correspondence and no business of hers. However, she must stay in her role, act her part. In the event, she found herself reading the lines, anyway. They had a way of drawing you in and in addition to that, they were very touching. Albus Dumbledore must have been a very lovely man …

When she had finished, she clamped her hand over her mouth and inhaled in a flustered manner. Gilly swallowed the pretence and put on a strict face.

“The Muggle witch believe now?”

Elena bowed her head as if shame-faced. “I’m sorry … I feel awful now …”

Gilly raised a stern eyebrow and finger at her. “Like Gilly say, the Muggle witch mustn’t believe everything some fools say …”

“No, I shouldn’t.” Doing her utmost to look dejected, Elena buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know how I could ever have …”

“After all my master do for the Muggle witch”, Gilly mumbled reproachfully.

As if that was enough to shatter her, Elena gave a loud – and completely faked – sob. With her face still hidden – chiefly to hide a grin – she sat down on the sofa and shook her head dramatically from side to side. “You’re right! How could I?”

“The Muggle witch must not get too excited”, Gilly said and it sounded a little alarmed. However, Elena issued another strangled sob and rummaged for a tissue in her jeans pockets. Loudly, she blew her nose, shaking her head again as if utterly destroyed.

Gilly was at a loss. Elena could almost hear her think. ‘Those Muggles, you never know what’s going on in their crazy heads …’

“Thank you for showing me this.” Elena’s voice sounded broken and bothered. “Thank you … thank you … I mean … I’m _so_ ashamed …”

“There, there”, Gilly said as soothingly as she could. “The Muggle witch must pull herself together now.”

“I’m afraid I can’t”, Elena’s sighed dejectedly. Still, her face was hidden by her hands.

“A cup of tea is what the Muggle witch needs”, Gilly stated determinedly. “A cup of good hot tea to calm her nerves …”

As if proving a point, Elena’s throat brought forth another sound very close to a strangled cry.

Immediately, Gilly dashed towards the door, glad to be able to get away. “Gilly is going to bring tea”, she promised. “The Muggle witch wait and think about her mistakes. – Everything is well now!”

Gilly left the sitting room in a hurry.

As soon as she was gone, Elena took her hands from her face and gazed after the little house-elf. Rely on any British creature, magical or not, to offer you hot tea in a crisis. Did they know how open it made them to manipulation?

Elena got up and snatched the item looking like a nut cracker from the box. She stuck it in the wide pocket of her jacket and dashed towards the fireplace. The bowl of greenish Floo powder stood on the mantelpiece. She took a handful, stepped into the fireplace and flung the powder into the air.

“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry”, she said as clearly as she could, “Professor Snape’s office.”

Greenish dust clouded her eyes …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	33. The Snake Pit

**The Snake Pit**

 

Seconds later, Elena stepped out of another fireplace into a completely dark room. The first thing she noticed was the sour smell of old books, the earthy one of damp bricks and something sulphuric that reminded her very much of Severus. She raised her wand, cast a _Lumos_ and details came into view.

It was a large place with a rather low ceiling supported on pillars that cast eerie shadows across an immaculately swept stone floor. A large desk stood in the middle with quills, rolls of parchment and stacks of books on it. On top of one of the stacks sat a human skull, grinning at her. Behind the desk were rows of shelves squeezed into arches and holding jars with speckled liquids. What swam in those liquids looked suspiciously like baby limbs, brain parts and homunculi. Better not look at it too closely. She had different things to do anyway.

However, she wasn’t quite clear yet on how to achieve that. She knew from what Severus had told her that there were portkeys at Hogwarts, hidden away somewhere, which resembled the motives of Tarot cards. There must be one looking like a tower and Elena was certain that this portkey would take her back to the lighthouse. However, how to find the damned thing was still beyond her. She simply hoped that she would stumble over some kind of solution along the way. Maybe go through Snape’s stuff on his desk. And if that didn’t help … well, what? It began to dawn on Elena that she hadn’t prepared very well. So far, with dumb luck, everything had turned out fine. She had got her wand back and the nut-cracker-slash-ban-breaker, as well. However, she hadn’t wasted a lot of thought on how to get to the lighthouse and to Severus, had simply relied on her second vision, that of the exploding disc, and that it would somehow miraculously come true. However, the success also depended on her actions, and actions required options. She didn’t see much of those around.

But there was still time. Also, it was important not to turn up at the lighthouse too early, certainly not before her younger self had gone. Under no circumstances must she run into herself or the consequences would be incalculable. This also meant that she had to stay at Hogwarts and wait. The idea of spending the time in _his_ office, among his things and his scent, was quite appealing.

She increased the strength of the _Lumos_ and made to stroll around the office. In that moment, she noticed a movement out of the corner of her eye. It gave her a horrible shock and she held her breath. Someone was here! Sure enough, on a chair and half-hidden behind a pillar sat a figure, breathing raggedly and jerking around. In fact, it looked like the person sitting there was struggling. Not for the first time in this strange night, a pair of wide eyes stared at her.

It was a young man, or rather, a boy. In the twilight her _Lumos_ created in the low room, she could see that he wore school robes under which a green-and-silver-striped tie was visible. It must be a student, and she had read enough about Hogwarts, its houses and their colours – after all, this was where Snape worked and that had been enough to make her interested – to know that this was a Slytherin student tied to a chair in Snape’s office. Was that Severus’ idea on how to treat school kids in a pedagogically meaningful manner?

Seeing that the boy couldn’t do much to her, she came closer.

“Who the hell are you?” she asked, resolving instantly not to be cowed by an adolescent with zits in his face and not to let on that it really was she who had no reason to be here.

“Who the hell are _you_?” he shot back. An angry line formed on his forehead. His voice sounded blasé and he had the groomed and cared-for look of someone raised with a golden spoon in their mouth. He was used to command and control. From the start, she didn’t like him one bit and considered him critically.

“You don’t look like you’re in the position of asking me questions. In fact, you look like you’re not in a position to do anything much at the moment.”

“That obvious, is it”, the boy spat, “why, you must be a genius!”

“Calm down and play nice”, she counselled him lazily. “You know, if you want people to do something for you – like, untie you, for example – you should be friendly.”

He surveyed her from head to toe, took in her blue jeans, her calf-length boots and her jacket. Intuitively, she knew what he was thinking. ‘If that’s not a Mudblood, I’ll eat my hat.’

“But you don’t have a hat, sweetie”, she chirped. “And you couldn’t reach it if you had.”

It shut him up and made him gape.

“That’s right”, Elena went on cheerfully, “not quite as useless as she looks. – Now that we have this out of the way, would you be kind enough to tell me who you are and what you are doing tied up in Professor Snape’s office?”

He glowered at her. “I’m Arcadius Selwyn”, he muttered reluctantly. “And I’m here because my bloody Head of House tied me to this fucking chair and forgot all …”

“Language”, Elena said evenly, imitating Snape’s scathing tone and hiding her agitation. Selwyn! She remembered the sinister man who had stared at her in that boutique in Diagon Alley, and she also recalled how Severus had told her that this man had a son or nephew at Hogwarts who was a troublemaker. This must be him, then. She started to get an idea why the boy was here and in this position. It must have something to do with the blood parchments, with Snape trying to find out more about it. She remembered something else Severus had told her about Arcadius Selwyn.

“Raiding the vaults again, were you?” she asked, looking at him sternly. From the change on his face she could see that she was right. “Just won’t leave them alone, huh?”

“These vaults belong to _my_ people”, he growled.

“And by ‘my people’ you probably mean Death Eaters and pure-blood arseholes in general”, she concluded loftily.

“That’s a hundred times better than being a f …”, he broke off.

“A fucking Mudblood like me”, Elena finished his sentence. “My, my, you’re not helping yourself here, sweetie …”

“Untie me!” demanded the boy. “I told you who I am, now do as you promised!”

“I don’t think so”, she announced airily and started to leisurely stroll around Severus’ office, ignoring the hisses that came from the boy, the contents of which could hardly be charming. She noticed that there were no windows anywhere from which she could have carefully overlooked the grounds of Hogwarts. This was hardly surprising since Severus had mentioned that he lived in a dungeon and that he liked it, ever the weirdo. Inspecting the room, however, she began to understand why. It was tidy and carefully structured with regard to furniture, its main focus books and magical objects. There were fixtures on the walls holding extinguished torches. Otherwise, none of the frills that you might expect in a castle, dainty arches, ornaments and the like. This room had the gravity of naked stone and shadows. It matched Severus Snape much better than his poky house at Spinner’s End.

She heard voices that, however far away, might have come from the corridors or from outside. Kids’ voices, squeals and laughter, probably the tag end of Halloween night. Elena saw that the Selwyn boy heard it, too, because he started struggling against the bonds again.

“Why didn’t you simply call for help?” she wanted to know, because it was so obvious.

Once more, the boy glowered. The colour of his face changed slightly. Elena understood that he was embarrassed about his plight and that he was not as strong as he pretended to be.

“They can’t hear me”, he mumbled. “Snape always puts a _Muffliato_ on his office. And he … just took off, as if all the furies of hell were pursuing him …” Selwyn broke off.

‘To come for me’, Elena thought, distinctly noticing the warmth spreading in her stomach.

“Because of something you told him?” she asked.

Arcadius Selwyn merely shot her a dirty look, but said nothing.

“Talk to me!” she demanded.

He gave her a vicious grin. “Only if you untie me.”

“You’re not setting any conditions here”, Elena told him.

“Nor do _you_ ”, was the recalcitrant answer, delivered with an expression of disgust. Again, he eyed her from head to toe. “You’re _that woman_ , aren’t you? Snape’s … I don’t know …”

“And if I was”, she purred, “do you really think I’d tell a spoilt little pure-blood bugger such as you? I’m sorry having to tell you this again, sweetie, but you want something from me, not the other way around.”

“Are you sure about that?” An impertinent grin appeared on his face. “If that is true, why are you here? Aren’t you looking for something?”

“What might I be looking for?”

“The vaults”, he replied immediately. “However, I bet my arse that this is your first time at Hogwarts and you don’t have a clue how to find them. You don’t even know where exactly you are in this castle, do you?”

She didn’t reply, merely watched him.

“So here’s the new deal”, the Selwyn boy went on, regaining confidence, “you untie me and I bring you to the vaults.”

Not so stupid, after all. Elena was sorely tempted to accept the deal. She needed to find the vaults, but had no idea how to do that, and she could not show herself in the castle. The Selwyn boy appeared like a gift of fate, installed here to help her. But would he really tell her, once she had untied him? An instinct warned her. This was an older student with several years of magical education on his back. Very probably he knew tricks that would outsmart her in a wink. She mustn’t untie him under any circumstances.

“I will think about it”, she said with feigned indifference.

“No! You must decide now, or I shan’t show you!”

“Then I shan’t untie you. – And believe me, I have a lot of time …”

“When I’m not back in my common room once Halloween’s over, everybody will be looking for me.”

“In Professor Snape’s office?” She smiled ironically. “Knowing him, he probably has a spell on the door, and I don’t think he ever forgets to set it.” ‘Except for once’, she amended in her thoughts. “No one will be able to come in.”

“There’s a House ghost”, hissed Arcadius Selwyn, “he can slip through walls. – Have you ever seen one of those?”

Elena tried hard to keep the worry out of her face – ghosts, indeed! – but maybe she wasn’t too successful because he grinned triumphantly.

“Tell me what Professor Snape asked you about”, she demanded, resolving that attack was the best way of getting him under control again.

“Untie. Me. First.” Another wicked grin contorted his face. “Who’s in a corner now?”

Elena gave him a look of disgust. Arrogant little idiot, probably thinking of himself as a gift to the world of magic. His grin turned into a leer as he sized her up once more and she turned away.

It was in this moment that she spotted something on the nearby desk. It was a vial, very much like the one Severus had once given her, only that the liquid in it was transparent and not blue. The vial was half full. An empty cup stood beside it, on the part of the desk nearest to the boy, and its bottom was moist.

“What is this?” she murmured.

She caught an uncomfortable expression on the Selwyn’s face. Certainly, he would not tell her what it was that the vial held. However, that wasn’t necessary. Surveying the desk, she found the label, attached to string, which had obviously been removed from the neck of the vial when it had been opened. Elena recognized Severus’ cramped handwriting. _Veritaserum_. She grinned. Bless him for his overcorrectness.

“Looks like you haven’t always been telling the truth”, she said smoothly, removed the stopper from the vial and poured the entire remaining contents into the cup.

“What do you mean?” There was alarm in his voice.

She took the cup and came towards him. His eyes became wild.

“What are you doing??”

“Getting you to tell the truth.”

“What if that’s poison? You can’t poison me!”

“That’s not poison and you know it.”

Frantically, he started to scrabble with his feet, edging the chair and himself away from her with a jarring screeching sound. Elena watched him patiently. It only got him up against the wall, anyway, and this made it much easier for her.

She drew up her knee and pushed it across his chest, leaned in with her weight.

“Get off me, fucking Mudblood!” he growled, struggling against the bonds that tied him.

However, she remained calm. “I’m really doing you a favour here. No woman in her right mind would ever get as close to a toffee-nosed inbred such as you, so enjoy it while it lasts.” Roughly, she placed her left hand on his face and blocked his nostrils. He began swaying his head madly, escaping her grip a few times. Every time, the liquid in the cup in her right hand swashed dangerously.

It was no good. She sighed, got out her wand and said a gentle “ _Stupefy_ ”. It was like a very forceful slap around his head and stunned him for a few seconds. Enough to grip him around the head again and force the contents of the cup into his half-open mouth. Then, dropping the cup, she put her hands over his mouth and waited until he couldn’t help swallowing. When she let off, Elena realized that she was bathed in sweat. Nausea threatened to overtake her. During the entire time she had spent at Snape’s house with Gilly, she had almost forgotten her precarious state, threatening to unsettle reality. However, every decisive step in her journey brought it back, and this had obviously been a very significant one.

Breathing deeply, she leant against the edge of the desk, watched the Selwyn boy – who had started to lightly whimper – and waited.

 

* * *

 

A short while later, he had regressed into childhood. He looked at her with a stupid grin, completely open and fascinated, as if she was a nice aunt handing out goodies. He had also become very talkative, eager to impart any information she asked him for. It was beautiful. However, very much to her chagrin, Elena found out that he was not able to tell her anything substantial. Yes, his family hated Severus Snape, they considered him a blood traitor. Yes, his uncle had had correspondence with a mystery man, some distant family connection, there had been credentials brought forward and help requested in the name of blood and honour. Also, he had overheard a conversation among some of this relatives, that there was someone close to Snape, a woman, that the way to him would be via her, and it was a damn sure thing.

“Damn sure, huh?” she murmured.

Arcadius Selwyn gave her a radiant smile. “Yes.”

He admitted that his uncle had instructed him to keep an eye on the vaults, to keep them functioning with a simple spell, and that he had done so faithfully, relying on his house mate Alice – a talented Arithmancer, whatever that was – to break down Snape’s protective spells. Yes, he would show her where the vaults were. He would even describe it. However, the description was so complex she already felt as if she had got lost.

Then, something occurred to her.

“Listen, sweetie”, she said in a friendly tone because there was no reason to be bitchy anymore with the boy closely resembling a vegetable, “I’m sure you know the girl they call the Muggle Slytherin?”

“Of course!” Selwyn nodded ferociously. “I know her. She is in my house. Her name is Laurie Paik. First Mudblood in Slytherin for decades.”

“Laurie Paik”, Elena repeated thoughtfully. “Where would I find her at this hour?”

“Common room”, Selwyn informed her readily, “or rather, since its Halloween, she’ll probably be about somewhere until the curfew’s called.”

“When would that be?”

“Soon now. Half an hour at most.”

Elena nodded, satisfied. “Alright, sweetie. You’ve done well. Just tell me two more things and I’ll leave you in peace: how does she look and where is that damned common room?”

Again, he advised her without hesitation. This Veritaserum was even better than LSD. Elena thought that it should be distributed in the Muggle world and mixed into the drinks of politicians. It might make a few things more easier. Or more difficult, considering the perverted relationship so many people had with the truth.

She stayed in Severus’ office for a while, chatting to the Selwyn boy who clearly liked to hear himself talking. As the minutes passed, however, she observed his recalcitrance coming back, and again he struggled against his bonds, whimpered.

“You said you’d untie me”, he whined.

“Sorry, sweetie”, she smiled at him, “I lied.”

“You bloody bitch!” The whining turned into wailing.

“Now, now …”

“Snape’s going to bleed for this!”

“I’m sure he will be deeply impressed.”

Elena decided that the atmosphere in the office was becoming too much for her. She grabbed her wand, made sure that the ban breaker was still in the pocket of her jacket and then inhaled deeply before she opened the door to the office and snug out.

“Help!” shouted the Selwyn boy as soon as she had opened the door. “Help me!!”

Quickly, she banged it shut. Bloody spoilt brat! She must not forget to mention him to Snape, if she ever got out of this misery. He was a clear candidate for detention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	34. Night at Hogwarts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... supplemented during update by a little Severus scene since I have received complaints that he is not 'present' enough in the last few chapters ... and I'd do anything to keep my readers happy ... ;)

**Night at Hogwarts**

 

She was standing in a dark, low-ceilinged corridor. There were torches lighting the way, casting long shadows which would be ideal for hiding herself if need be. Slowly, Elena crept along the damp stony tube, hearing laughter and voices from afar.

“Down the corridor, round the bend, second entrance on the right”, she repeated the Selwyn boy’s description under her breath and proceeded. As soon as she turned the corner, she saw them coming: a group of four or five, all in school robes, supplemented by silver and green ties and lapels. However, they were boys and not the right age. Quickly, Elena ducked in an alcove and watched them stop in front of a portrait. A little bit amazed, Elena watched them talking to it. Or rather, they didn’t have a conversation with it, but gave it a word, upon which the portrait swung aside, allowing them to pass. Interesting. Elena had hardly got over moving photographs in wizarding newspapers, and now portraits were able to respond, as well? Good thing she hadn’t stumbled over the ghost yet. She doubted that she would be able to stay calm.

As soon as the boys were gone, she hurried further up the corridor, only to duck again in the next moment, because another group was approaching, same school robes, same colours. They were a bunch of small girls, and Elena’s heart beat faster. Could Laurie Paik be among them? She narrowed her eyes and out of her hiding place she observed their faces. However, none of them looked Asian. Closest to Selwyn’s description came the older girl that led them down the corridor, and only because she had black hair, albeit curly. She also had a badge on her robes in the shape of the letter ‘P’.

“Come on, ladies”, she hurried the group, “it’s way past your bedtime, Halloween’s over. In with you and to your dormitories!”

Elena watched as the older girl sternly surveyed her little flock traipsing one after the other through the portrait hole. The girl with the P badge made to follow them, but stopped in her tracks at the last moment, staring up the corridor with an ill-humoured face.

“Paik!” she hollered. “Come on, don’t dawdle!”

Out of the shadows, Elena followed the direction in which the older girl’s eyes were looking. By the end of the corridor stood two small figures, chatting and hugging, obviously bidding each other good-bye. One of them turned around. “Coming!” She had jet black hair and almond-shaped eyes. In her hiding place, Elena started fidgeting nervously.

The girl with the P badge waited a few seconds, then shook her head unwillingly. “Really, why doesn’t she sleep in Ravenclaw tower …”, she muttered under her breath, then shouted out again. “Paik! I’m not going to wait until you and your little smartass friend are done!” And with that, she climbed through the portrait hole.

The black-haired girl let out an audible sigh. “I better go now …”, Elena heard her say with a hint of regret.

The girl and her friend hugged again and parted. The small figure came hurtling down the corridor. Just as she arrived at the portrait hole, Elena beckoned to her from the alcove. “Shsht!”

The girl wheeled around, stared, but she couldn’t see anything.

Tentatively, Elena came out of the hiding place. The little girl’s eyes widened.

“Are you Laurie Paik?” she whispered urgently.

A suspicious glance. “Who’s asking?” Were all Slytherins difficult?

“I need your help”, Elena urged her, “it’s important!”

A new commotion at the other end of the corridor. Two figures approached, both boys and older students, laughing and swaggering. Elena retreated into her crevice in the wall, praying that the Paik girl would not tell on her. However, she remained standing by the portrait hole, looking bored.

“Hey, Paik, what are you doing out here? Time to get your Mudblood ass into bed!” one of the boys hollered.

Laurie Paik merely shrugged.

“Leave her alone”, the other boy reprimanded his friend. “The Mudblood has become an eminent figure …”

“Seeker, indeed! Snape and Parkinson must be out of their minds …”

A grin appeared on Laurie Paik’s face. “Have you found your buddy Selwyn yet?” she asked with open menace.

“What’s it to you?” the first boy hissed.

The other one was kinder. “Nope. He’s probably taken an impromptu trip. Hogsmeade, I guess.”

“He’s going to get into trouble with Snape”, Laurie remarked cheerfully.

‘You bet’, Elena thought in her hiding place.

“Shut your gob, Paik. We all know you’re his pet.”

“Oh, stuff it”, murmured the girl.

The first of the older boys looked at her daggers and for a moment it seemed as if he would strike out at her, but his friend drew him away, murmuring, towards the portrait hole.

When they were gone, Laurie came closer to the alcove, looking very curious. Elena smiled at her. “Thank you for not telling on me.”

The girl made a face. “I would never tell those two idiots anything, even if you were a banshee.” She shrugged and scrutinized Elena. “Will you tell me who you are now? Because I get the feeling that you have no business being here.”

“Probably not”, Elena admitted. “However, this is Halloween. Special circumstances and all that.”

Laurie narrowed her eyes. “I only have to scream and you’ll be up shit creek”, she said, deadpan.

“Do I look that dangerous to you?”

“No. To be honest, you look pretty harmless. But if I have learnt one thing here, it’s that looks can be deceiving.”

“Not in my case, and certainly not where you are concerned. – You _are_ ‘the Muggle Slytherin’, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. The cuckoo in the nest”, Laurie said in a bored voice, then jolted. “Wait a minute – I know who you are! You’re …”

“Elena.”

“… you’re … that woman friend of the Professor, aren’t you?”

News certainly travelled fast in the wizarding world. Elena bit down on a grin. Well, they certainly didn’t know everything …

“Where is he?” Laurie wanted to know.

“In serious trouble”, Elena admitted. “Which is why …”

“What’s wrong??” From her expression, it was obvious that the girl was worried. Elena remembered what the two older boys had said, that she was Snape’s pet. She began to see why.

“You need to take me to the vaults”, Elena explained to the girl. “To where the portkeys are. And I need a place to hide until the morning.”

Laurie digested this, then frowned. “I can’t right now. I’ve got to be in my dormitory about … now.” Again, she narrowed her eyes, obviously thinking hard. “You will have to wait. I can sneak out, but only when everyone’s asleep. It might take a while, an hour at least.”

Elena sighed. “Alright then”, she resolved after a few seconds consideration. “We’ll meet in Professor Snape’s office.”

That clearly surprised her, but she nodded. “Did anything happen to him?” Ill foreboding made her screw up her face.

“Not yet”, Elena said, looking glum. “But if I don’t get to these vaults before sunrise, it will.”

Laurie nodded slowly. “Alright. Don’t fret, I’ll take you there. Just wait.”

And with that, she turned around and climbed through the portrait hole.

 

* * *

 

It was a harrowing wait. Not so much because Elena was starting to feel restless. Much worse was the cursing and whining she had to endure from the Selwyn boy. The effect of the Veritaserum had worn off completely and he was back to his pure-blood impertinence. After only fifteen minutes, Elena was sure that never again in her life was she going to be called ‘Mudblood’ that often. Again and again, he demanded to be untied, and when that didn’t help, he resorted to loud swearing. Luckily, the walls of Snape’s office appeared solid.

After another fifteen minutes, Elena couldn’t take it anymore. She took out her wand, pointed it at Selwyn and muttered “ _Quiescat_!” Instantly, his head fell to the side and a short while later, he issued a rasping snore. It was another spell which Severus had shown her when he had taught her how to fight. She had thought it ridiculous at the time, but now she realized that Snape had been right when explaining to her that sleeping enemies were the best type of enemy.

She strolled to the desk and examined the books there, looking for something she might want to read. To her surprise, among other books she found those she had given him several weeks ago. It appeared that he had read or was reading most of them. ‘Schroedinger’s Cat’, specifically, was stuck with slips of paper with Severus’ handwriting and obscure symbols on them. She must have struck a chord with these books. Merely ‘The Golem’ appeared untouched, which didn’t surprise her. However, she hadn’t read that particular book in a while and it was most probably the only work of fiction in this room. So she installed herself in the squashy chair behind his desk and opened the book …

 

Even after she had started to read, Elena had to wait almost another hour before the door to Snape’s office opened a crack and Laurie Paik quietly snug in. She looked surprised.

“Normally that door’s protected”, she remarked.

“Yeah, it was”, Elena couldn’t help being pleased with herself. “But I know all about the Sealing Charms he uses.”

“Good. You’ll need that for the vaults.” Suddenly, Laurie’s eyes widened. She had spotted Archie Selwyn in his chair. “He’s here?? – Do you realize they are looking for him all over the castle? That’s why it took me so long to get here …”

“You mean the place is swarming with people searching the grounds?” Elena asked with alarm in her voice. “How are we going to get to the vaults, then?”

The Muggle Slytherin grinned. “Easy.” She cast a suspicious look at Selwyn, but he was still out of it, snoring peacefully. Purposefully, she strode over to the wall. Elena watched her while she was walking the length of it, her hands gliding over the bricks.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for … _this_.” A hidden door sprang open under Laurie’s small hands. “We’ll have to take a detour to get to the vaults, but as far as I know no one knows about this exit.”

Elena examined the opening in the wall. Worn-out stone steps led down into darkness and there was a stale damp smell. “But you do”, she remarked, arms folded over her chest. “He let you in on a few secrets, didn’t he?”

“Don’t get jealous”, Laurie said and winked at her. “He’s way too old for me.”

Elena struggled to keep a straight face. It was impossible not to like this girl. “Aren’t you a little young for such considerations?”

“Aren’t _you_ a little young to act all mommy?” Laurie raised a cheeky eyebrow at her and made a quick gesture with her hand. “What are you waiting for? Let’s get going.”

 

It was a long walk through the bowels of Hogwarts. Laurie Paik led the way, casting a very clear _Lumos_ while Elena backed her up with her own. The underground corridors were low and winding, rats scurried across their path and from somewhere a chilling draught swept through the dry stone canals. The way led down, down and further down before it picked up again and they had to climb a slope which was only interspersed with well-trodden steps.

The journey seemed to take forever and all the while, noises could be heard from overhead, taps, steps, echoes and muffled voices. At some point, Elena could clearly discern a stern female voice, sweeping towards her eerily. “Have you checked the classrooms? Knowing him, he will hardly be there, but we’re running out of options …”

“That was McGonagall, the headmistress”, Laurie whispered over her shoulder. “You don’t want to run into her, she’d totally ground you. – The Great Hall is directly above, you know, where we eat …”

“I know.” Reading up on Hogwarts, she had of course heard of the famous Great Hall with its enchanted ceiling. For a fleeting moment, she regretted this situation that didn’t allow her to explore the place which was so clearly full of magic. Another time, maybe, if she still had a future …

“Laurie?”

“Yeah?”

“I know this may be hard for you, but you mustn’t talk about this. About my coming here, and that there’s trouble. Not before tomorrow morning, anyway.”

“You think I’m stupid?”

“No, but … I shouldn’t really be here.”

“Well, that’s obvious”, Laurie said with a scoff.

“No, I mean … oh, never mind.”

“Of course I won’t tell!”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

“Down here now. We’re not going up to the Great Hall. This passage leads to the vaults in a round-about way.”

“You certainly know the hang of the place.”

The Muggle Slytherin grinned. “After Snape showed me the corridor, I spent a lot of time here. It’s a great hiding place.”

Elena smiled. “I hear you need those a lot …”

“Not so much anymore. Since I’ve been made Slytherin Seeker, I’ve become some kind of holy cow.”

Elena had no idea what she was talking about, but didn’t ask. The reason was that the corridor had become wider and lower at the same time and they had to bend their backs in order to be able to walk on. After a short while, the ceiling became so low that they had to crawl on their knees. The path ended in a small opening in a brick wall through which Laurie crawled easily, while Elena followed with considerably more effort, cursing her wide hips in the process. When she looked up, she found that they had arrived in another small and low space cut out of massive stone which only just allowed them to stand up. There was a narrow heavy-looking door with a bluish glimmer around its frame. Sure enough, it was sealed.

“Good luck with that”, Laurie said, looking puzzled.

“Don’t worry”, Elena replied, “I spent an entire afternoon with Snape, watching him while he protected my aunt’s house.”

“Why?” the girl asked curiously.

“Because someone threatened to turn him into a dog leash and I somehow got mixed up into it all.”

Her face fell. “Seriously? That’s wicked …”

“Tell me about it.”

Elena inspected the door and got out her wand. She remembered the incantation perfectly, it wasn’t too complex, and had worked well for his office. However, she doubted that he had used the exact same spell for the vaults. The problem was that for a more complex seal, the incantation had to be supplemented by a password which you had to know for it to work. Of course, she had no idea which password Snape had used here. For a long time, she stood in front of the door, wand raised, but without uttering a word. Laurie Paik stood by and watched her.

“I wish I knew how he thinks”, Elena mumbled and pressed the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger.

“Dry. Straight. No frills”, Laurie suggested.

“No. I need a word.”

Laurie Paik tilted her head and looked at her. There was a glitter in her eyes and it took a while for Elena to realize what she meant.

“You think …”

“Won’t hurt trying.”

“I’m not so sure. Probably I have no more than three attempts.”

“You have to try _something_ …”

Elena resolved not to be so arrogant. In her first attempt, she inserted ‘Lily’ as the keyword. However, that didn’t break the seal. It occurred to her then that these days everybody knew about the feelings Severus Snape had harboured for Lily Potter and that thus the first name of his great love would be rather unsophisticated and easy to guess at. Stupid of her not to think about that at once. She took a deep breath and tried her own name. Another miss. Too arrogant, after all.

Elena stared at the door, the bluish gleam. She felt Laurie Paik’s eyes on her. The girl’s face reminded her of an alert bird, a little sparrow perhaps or something more exotic. A jolt went through Elena.

Again, she raised her wand, directing it at the bluish gleam. This time, she used ‘raven’ as the keyword. Goosebumps broke out on her skin when, in fact, the shining frame collapsed and dissolved into nothingness. The door sprang open. Elena and Laurie exchanged looks and carefully stepped into the now unlocked room.

In a large circle, pillars had been arranged there on which stood a number of items, figurines. Immediately Elena recognized the motifs of Tarot Cards – there was The Wheel of Fortune, the Sun, the Moon, the Hierophant and, sure enough, the Lightning-Struck Tower.

“That went well”, Laurie remarked with another mischievous grin.

Elena felt her heart beat in her throat. She approached the Tower figurine. “What time do you think it might be?”

Laurie made an uncertain gesture. “Past midnight, I guess.”

“I wish I was in the habit of wearing a watch …”, Elena sighed.

“But that’s easy!” Laurie exclaimed and drew her wand.

Elena watched in astonishment as the young girl moved the tip of her wand over the stone floor in a circle motion, murmuring “ _Horavisibilata_ ”. Something appeared there, a bluish form reminiscent of a sun clock. It showed the exact time – half an hour past midnight.

“McGonagall taught me this one”, Laurie explained with a wink. “Because I was always late for Transfiguration lessons …”

“Very handy”, Elena acknowledged. “Thank you. For everything.”

Laurie examined her face sternly. “This is bad, isn’t it?”

Elena said nothing, merely gave a small nod. Laurie must have detected the fear in her face because she went up to the older girl and impulsively hugged her around the waist. “You better lock yourself in here”, she suggested.

“And you better get back to your snakey little friends. Before anyone notices that you’re gone. It’s important that no one sees you. And remember …”

“Not to tell anyone”, Laurie finished, almost bored.

“You have to understand how important this is”, Elena said pointedly. “Like I said, I’m not supposed to be here.”

Laurie drew her brows together, looking uncertain. “You said that before. What do you mean?”

Elena struggled with herself, then thought ‘Oh, what the hell’. “Time-travelling”, she mumbled curtly.

“Oh! – Wow …”

“Try to keep mum until tomorrow. When we’re not back by then, Professor Snape and I, then …” Elena broke off.

Laurie stared at her with a stricken face. After a while, she nodded. “I get it. – Best of luck.”

“Thanks for your help.”

“That’s alright. Muggle witch to Muggle witch and all that.”

And with that, Laurie Paik left the small cut-out space without looking back. Elena watched her retreating figure, then closed the door behind the girl and set the seal as Severus had taught her, only this time inserting her own password – Novikov. Laurie’s sun clock was still gleaming on the floor. Quietly, Elena settled down on the cold stone floor, drew up her knees and leant back against the rough wall. Once again, there was nothing but to wait. Above her, she heard frantically scurrying footsteps, the echoes of voices, the noises of a castle trying to find rest after a stressful holiday. Right now, in a lighthouse somewhere in this country, her younger self was sitting on sandy floorboards, side-by-side with a hurting man. Had they started to kiss already? Or were they still into solace and confessions?

Elena closed her eyes and for the first time since she had embarked on this shaky journey through time, she allowed herself to evoke those nightly hours in the tower which were present and past at the same time. If she focussed, she could remember the cool and sleek feeling of his skin under her finger tips, the sound of his moans in her ears. The memory set her on edge, made her skin tingle. She held on to the images sweeping up from within her. They helped to keep the fear at bay, that and closing her fingers around the nut-breaker-like item in her pocket …

 

* * *

 

Hundreds of miles and, in fact, a time continuum away, Severus Snape was startled out of his sleep. He blinked and stared at the scenery in front of his eyes which momentarily made no sense at all, was more like a tableau that he felt strangely unconnected to. Then he remembered. The tower room, his prison cell. What lay behind – a horrid Halloween, another blood parchment, a trip by portkey which had ended in a savage beating. Almost simultaneously with the latter memory, his face and bones started to hurt, as if trying to imprint on him that he hadn’t only dreamt, that it had really happened, that another wizard had gotten the better of him – and with ridiculous ease, at that – and that right now, he was not only deprived of his magic but also going to die soon.

But there was something else, as well. The sleep-drunk mind in his bruised body cottoned on very slowly.

Elena. And what they had done.

He turned his head sharply, not minding the pain, his black eyes eagerly searched the spot where she had been when he’d fallen asleep and which was now so utterly empty that his heart lurched and his stomach responded with a sinking feeling.

He shot up, looked around.

He called out for her, softly at first, then louder.

No response.

Where could she have gone?

Snape climbed out of bed – never mind his unclothed state – dashed to the door, tried it – to no avail – tried an _Alohomora_ , too (frantically reasoning that if she had been able to take off, maybe the suppressed magic had miraculously resurfaced in this dismal place), with equal success. He ran over to the window, stared out, but the night was still thick and he saw nothing but a sky the black of which was only slightly lighter than it had been hours ago. The sea was calm now, the incessant crush of waves quietened down. However, he could discern heavy clouds above, smelt rain in the air.

A chill ran over his body and he turned away, suddenly conscious of his nakedness and feeling alone, helpless and … betrayed. At first, he asked himself whether the last hours had been a figment of his imagination, whether he had conjured Elena’s presence up in his addled brain after the thrashing he had received. But that was impossible. He could still smell her on himself and, well, there was also the unfamiliar soreness _down there_. No dreamt-up kissing, no imagined shenanigans could leave that. So it must have happened.

But where was she, then?

And more importantly, if she had found a way out of here – why the hell had she left without him and stolen out like a thief instead while he’d been asleep.

He sank onto the bed and sat very still, deeply in thought. His body still hurt, but even worse was the pain of disillusion inside his chest. She had kissed him, been with him as if she loved him, and then she had left. It was hard to believe. However, at the same time, to Severus Snape his own life often seemed like an endless record of disappointments. He was used to them, so why hadn’t he guessed? Had he really thought that she – or any woman, for that matter – would stay with him, or gladly walk into death with him?

“Stupid idiot!” he muttered to himself while staring into the gloomy tower room.

Bitterness and anger threatened to sweep over him. But there was also something else: relief that she had somehow made it out. No matter if he died, at least he hadn’t dragged her with him. And from the realm where the relief hailed from, he could hear another inner voice. A voice stubbornly telling him that Elena had by no means left him. That she wouldn’t, couldn’t. He didn’t want to believe that voice as it went against all his experience. Very probably, it was the voice of mad hope. Maybe it was all he still had to cling to.

Slowly and with aching bones, he got up, searched for his clothes. Getting dressed was a painful process that had him grit his teeth. All the while, his brain was working.

‘How?’ he asked himself. ‘Just _how_?’

Lacking ideas, he began anew to search the room once he was dressed. Tried the door, looked under the bed – feeling bloody ridiculous – searched the walls and the floor for hidden doors and drops. Nothing. He was still in a locked room that no one could possibly get out of without magic. And there was no magic. He had no access to it, nor had Elena had it. Her wand had been taken, and the fragments of his were still lying on the floor. No matter how hard Severus thought about it, he just couldn’t come up with a solution, and it irked him sorely, so much in fact that he almost didn’t think at all about the fate that was awaiting him, or was at least easily able to push it out of his mind when it came up. In a way, trying to figure out how Elena had done it, how she had bolted, kept him from contemplating his imminent death.

Although dressed now, the cold started to bite. Severus reached for his travelling cloak, holding it in his hands and staring at it for a while. He found that he couldn’t resist holding it up to his nose, eager for her scent, but smelling with a broken nose was difficult. He realized that the impression he’d had a minute ago – that he could smell her on himself – was nothing but an illusion brought on by wishful thinking. He gave a grunt and winced while wrapping himself in the cloak.

Then he sat on the edge of the bed, thinking thoughts oscillating between gloominess and hope. She had found a way and was getting help. She was coming for him. – She wouldn’t bother, had probably realized that she’d made a mistake and taken the first opportunity to extract herself from the situation, from _him_ , knowing that as soon as he was dead, he wouldn’t be able to bother him anymore. – But no, that was not the kind of person she was; she was kind, like Lily had been kind, and Lily would _never_ have left him in the lurch of mortal danger, even after their break-up … – But hell, he’d told her everything! (The memory chilled him to the core, and he would have liked to slap himself for what he had owned up to, the McKinnon thing, his motives for becoming a Death Eather, he should _never_ _ever_ have …) He’d probably scared her, disgusted her, no wonder she had left … – However, if she’d been that disgusted, why had she made love to him? …

It was an endless back and fro. Positive and negative thoughts were chasing each other in Severus Snape’s head. Maybe, if he hadn’t been so busy battling with these contradictions, he would have noticed that something very decisive was missing from the very travelling cloak that he was tightly wrapping around himself. On the other hand, if he had noticed, he would promptly have embarked on a very different kind of worry …

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	35. Ordeal by Fire

**Ordeal by Fire**

 

How many miles had she travelled tonight? There was no way of telling. All kinds of transportations, too, all of them bloody magical, Time Travel, Apparition, Floo Powder and now – a portkey. It didn’t shake you up as much as the first two, was indeed a smooth ride, and it didn’t make the nape of your neck itch with greenish powder. This might become her favourite, it was a bit like the tube. She must also be going mad from it all, to be thinking such thoughts.

She landed in rain, on a completely wet expanse of grass. Immediately after touching down, her feet sank in and she began to struggle to reach firmer ground. The wind from the sea slapped the rain into her face, the roar of waves, whipped up by the change of weather after a still night, deafened her ears. Steely-grey clouds darkened the sky and it was hardly noticeable that the night had already ended. What a break from the last hours which Elena had spent, sleepless, in the bowels of Hogwarts, perched on the stone floor, wand at the ready and observing the bluish gleam on the door. At some point, she had heard a strict female voice outside, muttering an incantation, trying to break it. Then a squeaky male voice had been giving it a try. The spell had held and again she’d had proof of Severus’ value as a teacher.

Thinking of him, his closeness, made her heart beat faster. Casting a _Lumos_ in the grey darkness, she walked over sandy ground up to the edge of the rocky shore and stared down a steep rough wall of whitewashed stone, waves attacking it angrily a neck-breaking distance below. From afar, she could see the lighthouse. She quickened her pace. It might be a good fifteen minutes’ walk along the coast line, over grass, sand and rocky patches. Elena felt wetness soaking into her boots, one of the ghastliest things that could have happened in her former Muggle life. Now she hardly even noticed it.

Her younger self must already have left. It hadn’t rained when she had taken off, she was certain of that, and wondered whether Severus had already noticed that she had disappeared. She felt an urge to break into a run, however, she forced herself to walk on calmly to save her strength. It was hard enough to struggle against the wind and rain that plastered her hair to her face.

Slowly, the lighthouse came nearer. Her hands were ice-cold by then, but she gripped her wand determinedly. The rain came in gushes, sending bouts of spray against her shivering frame. Elena stomped on doggedly, lighthouse firmly in her sight.

For the first time, she allowed herself to look back. She was almost there now, the last stage of her trip through time had begun. Get to the lighthouse and destroy that damn disc, and she’d made it. It was almost too good to be true, and this was exactly what made her nervous. Wasn’t it all just too much dumb luck?

A sudden flicker, far off in the dark, made her stop in her tracks. Instinctively, she sank almost to her knees and half hid herself behind an edge of rock and flicked out her wand. She watched a beam of light probing the ground on the other side of the lighthouse, either someone carrying a torch or casting quite a forceful _Lumos_. Komarek? Come to make some final speech before he let the tower go up in flames? Elena looked up. She was close enough now to see the shine of the disc up high. In spite of the rain and clouds, the sky had become light enough by now to reflect weakly on its shiny surface. She had to start to run.

Still ducked, she hurried down from the high edge of the cliff. The ground fell and now the coast line half hid the lighthouse from her sight, and herself from anyone’s view on the other side of it. The cover was only good for another few minutes, however, before the rocks dropped away and the tower came full into view. She saw the hooded figure fast approaching it, with determined and graceful strides as if the rain meant nothing to him. It probably didn’t. Elena waited until she was sure that he faced away from her, then she ran. Suddenly, she was grateful for the rain. It blurred the outlines and drowned out the sound of her pounding steps.

She saw the hooded man enter the lighthouse. Now only a grassy patch separated her from it and she hurtled on against the rough breeze. There was an iron ladder attached to the side of the lighthouse. It would take her to the top, to the disc. No time to loose now. In only a few seconds, Komarek would discover that she had gone, and there was no telling what he’d do.

So Elena ran for it, not allowing herself to think of what she was doing. Her clothes were soaked and she felt that they dragged her down. While running, she stuffed her wand into the leather sheath before her open palms pounded on the lowest rung of the ladder. It was ice-cold and slippery. It took her a while to hoist herself up, in spite of all those bloody sit-ups she made herself do every day. Her elbows and knees clanged painfully onto the hard iron, every muscle aching already and the only thing still standing her will and the thought of Severus in her mind.

The climb she wouldn’t have dared to undertake in ordinary circumstances. Her feet constantly slipped from the rungs while sheets of rain whipped her relentlessly and the wind tried its best to blow her off. Her fingers were almost without feeling, and she heard her own pulse even across the crush of waves and the storm’s howl. She made herself concentrate on every rung, not look forward, but to remain in the Here and Now. What other option did she have, anyway? The moment she let herself think of what might happen, she’d be dead.

Reaching the top seemed like a miracle. Every bone in her body ached, water was running into her eyes. She panted, struggled onto the platform, stood up against the wind. Her frozen hands felt for the nut-breaker in her pocket. It slipped in her hands, crashed to the stone ground and she lunged after it, heart pounding in her chest.

She struggled up again, stroked wet hair out of her face and stared at the disc. It gleamed weakly in the dim light of dawn. The rain hammered onto it, but less so now, it was beginning to let up, as if to mock her pain.

With a look of concentration on her face, Elena directed the nut-breaker towards the disc. She had no idea how the item worked, if it would work; she simply let it, well, snap. There was a pause, maybe it was only in her mind, a pause in which she stared at the surface of the disc. Something happened to it, although it was almost imperceptible in the driving rain. It went a little opaque, as if a milky film had formed on it.

“Let’s see”, she murmured to allay her excitement. Elena stuffed the ban breaker into her pocket, fumbled out her wand, careful not to let it slip, as well. She inhaled deeply, pointed her wand at the disc and cried “ _Reducto_!” The first one was a miss, but the second wasn’t. The disc started to gleam, to burn red hot and went up in smoke and flames, as in her dream. It became a heap of ash which immediately mixed with the rain to form a soggy mass. Gulping with excitement and water running into her mouth, Elena turned on her heel, found the small door on the top of the light house and went into the small wooden cavern, creeping down the rickety and steep wooden steps.

The door fell shut behind her and relative silence ensued. Immediately she heard the screaming.

“Where is she? Tell me, where _the fuck_ has she gone?” It was Komarek, yelling at the top of his voice. She heard a horrible slapping sound and a crush as if of furniture, and her hair stood on edge. She wanted to crash down the stairs, but she couldn’t, it would spoil the element of surprise and that she sorely needed. So she willed herself to creep down the stairs in her sodden boots, wand drawn, hands and knees shaking. She came down onto the landing of the next floor. The door to the room in which they had been kept prisoner stood wide open. She heard panting, groaning.

“Where has the FUCKING WHORE GONE TO?”

Quietly as a ghost, Elena glided around the open door leaf. Komarek was standing with his back to her, drenched like she and towering over Snape who was, again, curled up on the floor, a fresh trickle of blood running over his mouth, but his eyes flashed aside at his enemy furiously rather than dejectedly.

‘You’d like to know, sucker’, Elena thought and raised her wand. “ _STUPEFY_!” she cried at the top of her voice. At once she knew that the spell was good. But so was Komarek. He turned, swiftly as dancers can, and stretched out his hands. The spell lifted him of his feet a little, but he hurled his arms against it and Elena knew within the tiniest fraction of a second that he was throwing it back at her. She ducked, but too slowly. The rebound spell hit her hard and sent her flying against the wooden panels of the corridor.

There was a sharp ring in her head, and if she had thought before that her knees were weak, now they became even weaker to the point where she didn’t feel them anymore. She willed herself to open her eyes. The image before them was out of focus, blurry, but she could see that Komarek, too, had slipped, fending off the force of her spell with his body. She saw him struggling up.

Her wand! She had lost it in the blow. With a spinning head and an out-of-focus vision, she stared wildly around, saw it lying on the floorboards half-way between herself and Komarek.

Elena didn’t know from where she took the strength to scramble to her hands and knees and start to crawl. She was dimly aware of some pain, but the will to live was stronger, and so she pushed herself over the boards, inched towards her wand. However, Komarek did the same. He was quicker and less impaired by their collision.

“Severus!” she screamed. “Help me!”

Komarek lunged forward, his fingers almost touched her wand. Elena screamed “NOOO!!” in frustration and anguish. For a split second, she and Komarek came face to face, their finger tips touching her wand, their eyes locking, and she saw him grin at her, immensely self-satisfied, immensely sure of his victory.

“Nice try”, he spat, “I like a challenge …”

“Piss off”, she hissedbut he had already got a grip on her wand and dragged it gingerly towards himself, grinning at her in the process … when, suddenly, the grin fell.

Elena watched him through her unfocussed eyes, watched breathlessly as an expression of intense surprise registered on Komarek’s face. Was she wrong or was that in fact a jolt passing through him? It was really more like a tremor as if Komarek’s body had been connected to electric vibration.

Before Elena could grasp what was happening, Komarek was lifted off the floor. Slowly, painfully slowly, he rose inch by inch, that wide-eyed expression of surprise changing to disbelieving terror. He started to flail his arms in a desperate attempt to gain control, letting go of her wand in the process, before he suddenly flipped over and crashed right into the door jamb.

With a loud thud, he fell to the ground. Immediately and emboldened by what she was witnessing, Elena scrambled forward towards the threshold of the rounded tower room, stretching out her hand to reach her wand. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Komarek being lifted up again. She heard a noise, a noise she knew well. It was choking, the desperate breathing attempts of someone who was being strangled.

Elena looked up from where she was crawling. She could now overlook the whole tower room. In the middle of it, in a dim morning light, stood Severus. At a first glance, he looked as always, black robes, black hair in his face, and only at a second glance did she realize that he was also a little bit hunched and found it painful to stand upright. Blood ran over his mouth and dripped from his chin to the floor in thick scarlet drops. In spite of all this, there was a peculiar tension in his body, his arm stretched out, long white fingers stiff. His black eyes glittered menacingly from behind the black curtain of hair, fully trained on Komarek with nothing short of loathing.

Komarek was hovering a good three feet above the floor, pressed against the door. He wheezed, he choked, his face turned purple, arms and legs rowing comically.

Elena stared back at Snape. Even without a wand, his magic was strong, fierce. She understood why: his face had become an ugly mask of hatred, there was murder in his eyes, and it must be this anger that increased his magical energy. The tension in his outstretched hand made his fingers tremble, and Komarek let out another horrible wheeze that was enough to freeze blood. The smell of urine filled the room, sharp and pungent.

“Severus! No!!” she shouted, staring at the furious wizard, willing him to notice her through his murderous haze.

He jerked his head towards her unwillingly. Caught her eyes. She shook her head at him, her lips moved, ‘Don’t. You don’t have to do this.’

He held her gaze, twitched. There was a shift in his eyes. Again, he turned towards Komarek, inspecting him with a look of regret on his face. Then, swiftly and suddenly, he moved his arm in an abrupt transverse motion and with it, Komarek was hurled across the whole length of the room into the opposite wall. The crash was loud and Elena heard the jarring sound of cracking bones. Komarek lay on the floor, greedily sucking air into his lungs, panting, spitting, before he collapsed.

In quick strides, Snape crossed the room to where Elena was crawling. He caught her by her upper arm, helped her up. She was still stunned, her disbelieving eyes on Komarek. Severus grabbed her roughly by the nape of her neck, and before she knew it, he pressed his mouth onto hers, sucking at her lips and tongue so greedily it almost took her breath away.

“I was angry with you”, he hissed into her mouth when he was done, “for leaving me.”

“Yes”, she murmured, dazed by the impetuous kiss and by what had happened before that, “you always get angry when you’re really afraid.”

He scowled, but there was also a quirk around his mouth. “What have you done?” he demanded, again speaking silkily and feverishly against her lips while his fingers stroked the back of her head.

Her knees were incredibly weak and she dug the fingers of one hand into his robes to steady herself. It made her realize that he was still trembling, as well, he merely controlled himself admirably by standing up and striking a half-way impressive figure. Elena reached into her jacket and got out the ban breaker, showed it to him. Then she revealed the Time Turner hanging around her neck.

Severus’ eyes became wide, she could feel the gears turning behind his forehead, before he understood the essentials.

“Stupid woman!” he growled, but it sounded anything but castigating.

Elena laughed softly, but he drowned out her laugh with another kiss that tasted of blood and salt. Her head started swimming again, but she was pretty sure that it wasn’t from the rebound spell. Before she could give herself over, however, he drew back as if stung. His mangled frame stiffened, there was a hard-to-read expression on his swollen and bloodied face. “What’s that noise?” he whispered.

“What noise?”

“Listen.”

Elena strained her ears. He was right. There was a noise, a crackling sound that she couldn’t place. In the corners of her eyes, she caught a movement on the other end of the room. Komarek had begun to stir and a throttled laugh came from his throat. It was the kind of laugh that would send a shiver down anyone’s spine …

Then she smelt it. A sharp sting invaded her nostrils and she saw by the twitch on Severus’ face that he had noticed it, too. “Fire.” His hand tightened around hers.

For a moment, they stared at each other while Komarek continued his low and menacing cackle.

“Destroyed the disc, have you?” he wheezed. “Stupid bitch. Well, you’ve sentenced yourself to death. Congratulations, that’s going to be a fine roast …”

A swift movement from Snape and a green jet shot in Komarek’s direction, knocking him out once more. Then, Elena’s hand still firmly in his, Severus dashed over to the door, dragging her with him. He drew her down the rickety stairs, his movements fluent now. Whatever was happening, it made him forget the pain in his body.

They got no further than to the next-lower floor when a thick pillar of smoke wallowed up to greet them and hit them in the face. The smell was pungent, immediately invading Elena’s eyes and nostrils and she turned away her face.

“Up!” Snape commanded, turning on his heel and dragging her in the other direction. “Give me your wand!”

Where had she put it? Yes, back pocket of her jeans. While stumbling upwards, she pressed it into his hand. At the same time, the dense cloud of smoke overtook them, turning the narrow staircase into a tunnel of blackish exhaust in which it was difficult to see your own hand before the eyes. There was a roar. Elena cast a quick look over her shoulders. She could see the flames licking up the stairs closely behind her, greenish flames, as she had never seen them before.

“It’s dragon fire”, Snape shouted over the roar, “I can’t freeze it!” He started to cough as the smoke invaded his lungs.

Elena stumbled behind him blindly. She had never experienced such smoke, so aggressive, burning relentlessly in her nose and throat. Already, tears were streaming from her eyes, she broke out into a mad convulsion of coughs. She held on to Severus’ hand for dear life, using her other hand to frantically feel her way up the stairs. They passed the small chamber in which they had been imprisoned. Through the open door, Elena could see Komarek crawling on the floor.

“What about _him_?” she pressed forth before her lungs constricted again.

“Let … the motherfucker … burn …”, was Snape’s hoarse reply.

Surely, this was not the right moment to ask whether he was familiar with the works of The Bloodhound Gang. How stupid were the things that came into your mind at the most inopportune moment, as if her streaming eyes and rebelling lungs weren’t enough … She stumbled, hit her knee hard on the edge of a wooden step, but Snape had her in his vice and roughly dragged her up. The heat in the narrow tube that was the staircase became unbearable.

Later, Elena would not be able to remember how they had managed to reach the top of the tower and the platform. For a short moment, fresh air hit their lungs and they both gulped it in greedily, dizzy, coughing and wiping their eyes. It was then that Elena saw the extent of the disaster. The fire must have broken out on the lowest floor, however, the outer walls of the tower were already entirely enclosed by the greenish flames, the smoke reached thickly all around the platform. The progress of the fire was stunningly fast and aggressive.

‘That’s it’, Elena thought, ‘this was my vision. Now we’re going to die …’

Despair hit her, made her nauseous and hardly able to keep herself on her feet. Snape had her around the waist now, sensing the limpness spreading in her body. He stared about himself frantically.

“It’s over!” Elena sobbed, another fit of coughing shaking her. “He got us after all …”

“Nonsense”, Snape growled, not ready to accept what was happening.

“I’ve seen this in my vision”, Elena wailed. “This is how we’re going to die …”

“Shut up!!”

His grip around her became painful. After staring around once more, he dragged her towards the railing of the platform, tried to look down to the ground, but couldn’t see anything because of the blackish smoke and green flames. His face was unhealthily pallid now, setting off the angrily red and black bruises and cuts.

Roughly, he grabbed Elena by the shoulders and turned her towards him. “Do you trust me?” he demanded eagerly.

However, she was a bundle of coughs and tears, trembling uncontrollably, close to passing out.

“ _Do you trust me_?” he repeated, shaking her.

She gave a faint nod.

Snape drew her close to him, grabbed her arms and put them around his neck. “Hold on tight”, he commanded, “and brace yourself.”

What was he up to? Through blurry eyes, Elena saw him place one booted foot on the low railing. Shock made her regain a degree of alertness. He wasn’t going to jump, was he?

But he did.

Enclosing her in his arms and holding her so tightly it would have taken her breath away if the smoke hadn’t done the job already, he kicked off, dragged her with him over the low railing, hurling both of them into the thick black cloud.

Elena screamed.

Free fall.

Was he _crazy_??

But then, what did it matter how exactly they died? Smashing to the ground and breaking all one’s bones was probably preferable to being burnt alive. Plus, this way she would die in his arms …

The fall lifted her stomach. Rapidly, bodies entwined, they fell through the wallowing smoke wall, were ejected into clear moist air and Elena saw the ground racing closer. She buried her face in his robes while images of her short and futile life flashed before her inner vision.

Suddenly, a jolt went through her body. Was this death already? However, she still heard the wind whistle in her ears, tearing at her hair and clothes.

She opened her eyes.

What she saw was almost like a hallucination. Between the burning tower on the one side and the wind-whipped rocky shore on the other, she was suspended in the air, held tightly in Snape’s embrace. She heard his ragged breathing, as if from an immense effort.

They were flying.

Flying without a broom, without a bloody magic carpet, floating on the breeze towards the ground. Drops splashed onto her face. She realized that they were drops of perspiration running over Severus’ face. When she looked up, she saw an expression of utter concentration on it and she knew that he was doing it, flying, taking her for a ride.

That was the upshot. There was only so much a Muggle witch could take. Her mind was close to switching off, surrendering and going to sleep.

They hit the ground with a thud. The pain that shot through her joints Elena only noticed at the periphery of her mind. Her perception was closing down. The last thing she saw was the soggy grass level with her face and four blurred figures approaching from afar, at a runner’s pace. Then her vision went entirely out of focus.

 

* * *

 

She found herself lying on a sunny beach, the roar of waves in her ears and a warm breeze on her face. She wore her new bikini that consisted only of a scrap of cloth, but she was proud of it since in her view it gave her a breath-taking cleavage. She wondered whether Severus would like it. Probably not, he was always such a prude about these things. It would, however, make him ogle.

Relaxed and happy about the vacation she was taking – where was she, actually? Greece, maybe? Could also be Croatia, with the white sand, the rocky expanse in the distance and the deep blue of the sea – she lolled back on her towel and continued to read the book she was enjoying. She liked it very much, it had vivid dialogues in it, so vivid in fact that she seemed to hear it in her ears.

‘What’s wrong with her? Is she …?’

‘No, she’s breathing. Just out of it …’

‘Goodness, you look a sight …’

‘That’s irrelevant now, Lupin. She probably has smoke poisoning, we have to rush her to St. Mungo’s …’

‘They’ll keep you, too …’

‘What made you all come here, anyway?’

‘She left me a message. In the pocket of my coat, she must have put it there at some point. The moment I found it, I alerted the others. Hermione and Professor McGonagall helped find the portkey …’

‘What the hell happened, Severus?’

‘Isn’t that obvious? She saved my life. Again.’

‘Was it … the guy of the blood parchments?’

‘You should save your questions for later, Remus. She looks really bad and her breathing’s funny. We should get going, Professor.’

‘I agree, Miss Granger. Will you take the lead and Apparate us to St. Mungo’s? I don’t have my wand anymore. The bloody bastard broke it …’

‘How the hell did you manage to fly from that tower without a wand?’

‘I had hers. Worked better than expected …’

‘Wow. She must really mean a lot to you …’

‘Enough with the irrelevancies, Potter. Are you ready, Ms Granger?’

‘Sure, Professor, ready when you are …’

Funny little piece of fiction. Elena felt strangely touched by it, as if the story had something to do with her. But then, that was what good books were all about.

She breathed deeply, smelling hibiscus and oleander. The sun caressed her face. The breeze from the sea sang a merry song. Later, she would go to a tavern and have seafood. And maybe a night swim to work it off. Then she would go back to her little hut on the margin of that charming village, drink red vine on the porch and spoil some local stray cats.

There was no time like vacation. And this one was shaping up to be promising. Actually, she might never return …

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


	36. The Visit

**The Visit**

 

It was only after several nights of wide open windows, curtains billowing in the warm breeze, reading, resting, swimming, sunbathing, befriending cats and donkeys, that Elena got the sense that something was wrong. Out of nowhere, while drinking cool white wine out of a chunky glass on a terrace, a question occurred to her. ‘Where was I before this?’ She couldn’t remember. She couldn’t even remember how she had got here, to this paradise where – if truth be told – she could have stayed indefinitely. It worried her a little. Also, it irked her that Severus never came. At least twice a week he should have shown up for lessons. Had she done something to put him off again? However, she couldn’t remember that, either.

She paid for the wine and went to the beach which was at this time bathed in the red glow of a spectacular sunset. Waves crushed against the shore in a fierce roar, a warm wind chased small veils of sand across the deserted beach. Elena turned her head to all sides, looking, searching the horizon. From afar, she could discern the shape of a lighthouse, painted red and white. It looked incongruous in the Mediterranean landscape and the sight stirred something, a memory, a feeling of discomfort. Hadn’t she seen this before?

Suddenly, her eyes became sticky, as well, and fell shut as if she had no control over her lids anymore. When she tried to open them again, she found that she couldn’t. They appeared to be glued together.

She put up her hands, rubbed, tried again. A grey haze came through the reddish darkness behind her eyes. Figures were moving back and fro in it, all in green. Structures came into view, however, their outlines were too blurry to tell what they were.

“Excuse me”, she accosted one of the figures, surprised to find that she wasn’t able to move and that her voice sounded scratchy and hoarse. She also became dimly aware of an uncomfortable constriction in her chest which made it hard for her to breathe.

One of the figures approached her. A woman. Middle-aged, good-natured face.

“Who are you?” Elena asked, mystified at the change of scenery. She wanted back to that bloody beach ...

“Madam Hollis”, the woman replied kindly. “I’m the matron here at St. Mungo’s. Yes, honey, you’re in hospital, but don’t you worry, we’ve got you.”

Hospital? How the hell had that happened? And why were her lungs burning like hell? She hadn’t felt it at the beach. However, Madam Hollis looked at her so kindly that it was hard to believe that anything was seriously wrong.

“Where’s Severus?” Elena asked.

“You mean Professor Snape?” Madam Hollis raised an amused eyebrow. “He was discharged earlier today.”

“Discharged?”

“Yes, honey. He surely looked bad when he came in, but after all he had no more than a few broken bones and bruises. We took care of it right away. You, however …”, she raised a hand and showed Elena a tube which was running into her nose and held a candy-pink liquid, “you breathed in too much smoke. You have pneumonia brought on by smoke poisoning. But like I said: not to worry. You’ll be fine.”

Madam Hollis prattled on some more, but her voice was drowning in the roar of the waves crushing against the shore of the lovely beach. Elena was relieved to be back. This here was far less complex. Sure, it irked her a little that Severus had gone home. Who would prefer rainy England to this mellow Mediterranean night with its gorgeous starry sky and the sweet breeze cooling your sun-kissed skin? Sometimes he really was a killjoy …

 

* * *

 

She came back to the hazy room sooner than she would have liked to. This time she could more easily discern the structures, the frame of her bed, and a bar from which the drip hung, as well as a gleaming sphere beside her in which a figure closely resembling that of da Vinci’s perfect proportions flipped around its axes. A magical system to monitor her vitals, most probably. She realized that the room was not hazy grey, but merely dimly lit, and that there was complete darkness behind the windows. This time, there was no one about, probably because it was the dead of night.

Elena realized then that this was reality, and not the beach. Drat. Why did good things never last?

She tried to concentrate and to remember. Slowly, details came back. Gilly, the house-elf, offering a nut cracker to her. Pawel Komarek diving out of the shadows with a menacing grin. Archie Selwyn tied to a chair. And finally … flying through black smoky clouds and rainy air …

This made her head spin. Could it be real? Then her head started to hurt and she had to cough, which, in turn, left her so exhausted she quickly dozed off again.

 

* * *

 

Hours seemed to have passed. However, when she woke up with a jolt, the windows were still pitch black, the dim lightning unchanged, and still no one about. Elena sat up and looked about herself. Everything was quiet and she couldn’t tell what had chased her out of her sleep. After a while, Elena nestled into her pillow and yawned. She realized that she had probably been asleep for only a short while. Dreams had the power of upsetting time, stretching second into hour. Had the sense of a presence been an illusion, as well?

She was too uneasy to go back to rest. The room was full of deep shadows and Elena felt that they attracted her eyes, as if she sensed something there. Suddenly, one of the shadows started to move and approach her bed. It was a black-clad, hooded figure. Elena stifled a scream just in time.

A white hand came out of the large cloak, moved up, removed the hood. Black eyes pierced her, and he put an admonishing finger to his mouth. Slowly he moved closer. As always, his face didn’t betray any emotion or state of mind. It had, however, improved considerably. The swelling was gone, the broken nose had obviously been repaired and only a blackened eye and a few remnants of bruises called to mind what had happened to him.

“No one must know I’m here”, he said in his usual low tones to explain the caution to silence.

“Hello to you, too”, she whispered, sensing the broad smile which, in spite of herself, she felt was splitting her face in half. The moment she had heard the silkiness of his voice again, her skin had started to tingle and the memories of that night and of what had happened between them came back. Elena wondered whether he was thinking of the same thing. He must, mustn’t he? But then, who knew with Severus Snape? He certainly didn’t let it on.

She watched him sitting down gingerly on the edge of her hospital bed. Only know did Elena realize that there was something moving in his cloak. Snape drew the garment aside a little and out onto the blanket that enveloped her hopped Lux, yellow eyes ablaze. He greeted her with a silent meow, stalked up the length of her upper body and enthusiastically bunted her chin.

“You brought my cat!” She flashed him a grateful smile.

Snape shushed her and scowled. “How could I not? You were moaning for him all the way here.”

“I did?”

He nodded and, with a slightly disgusted expression, brushed cat hair from the lining of his cloak.

“I don’t remember anything”, she mused.

“Yes, you do like to faint.”

She made a face and turned to Lux, giving him a thorough petting treatment before she directed her attention at Severus again. “You look much improved”, she observed.

Snape shrugged. “I always tell myself that the good thing about being ugly is that it doesn’t get any worse.” Though he never spoke loudly, his voice was now only just audible.

“I like looking at you”, she said, gazing into his eyes.

He sat very still and sneered a little. “You certainly are peculiar”, he observed.

“No”, she said quietly, “I like your contrasts. They suit you and who you are.” At the same time she thought that she must be mad, that she didn’t usually do this, come on to a man like that. It was a desperate need to find a connection to that night in the tower that made her say it.

There was a very slight smirk around the corners of his mouth. “You almost make me sound interesting”, he said with a hint of sarcasm.

“Telling you that you are will only make you more arrogant, so I won’t”, she said pointedly. “It would also upset the balance of compliments unduly in your favour.”

He gave a derisive snort and looked down onto his lap. Elena got the impression that he was a little embarrassed. When his eyes met hers again, his face was serious. “I don’t have long. But I need to talk to you.”

“Did you tell my aunt where I am?” she asked, suddenly distracted and nervous. She was afraid, she realized, of what he might want to talk to her about. Was he about to tell her that what had happened between them had been a folly, brought on by an extreme situation, and that it must never happen again, that they were to act as if it never happened?

“Of course”, he replied to her question, sounding a little affronted.

“Thank you.”

There was a silence. Elena had taken up her ministrations to Lux’s black fur again, eliciting a blissful purr, and although she felt Snape’s gaze on her, she avoided his eyes.

“What happened to Komarek?” she asked. “Is he dead?”

“Very probably. They couldn’t find his body, though. Dragon fire is very aggressive, especially to organic material. The lighthouse is little more but a heap of ashes, it took the Ministry’s fire squad ages to put out.”

“He couldn’t have … gotten out?”

“I hardly think so. Given how quickly the fire spread, it’s unlikely.” Out of the corners of her eyes, Elena could see him lean forward slightly. “Do you think he should have … been saved?” It sounded a little apprehensive.

Elena shook her head fiercely. “No.”

“Good”, he said, with a touch of relief.

“What did you want to tell me?” she asked, willing herself to breath calmly.

Again, an intense gaze, but this time he was taxing her. Maybe he wondered how she would react. He quickly looked about himself, making sure that no one was approaching, then focussed on her again.

“There is going to be an inquiry.”

Elena was a little stunned. She had not expected this. “An … inquiry?” she repeated uncertainly.

“At the Ministry. The Wizengamot, in fact. About what happened. You will have to give testimony.”

“ _Me_?”

“Yes. You.”

“Why?”

“Because my word doesn’t seem to be enough.”

She shook her head in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

Again, a few seconds passed during which he watched her attentively. “I have been warned”, he finally said. “Lupin. There appear to have taken place some changes at our wizarding authorities and it looks like I’m no longer the hero of the day.” A bitter scowl appeared on his face. “Didn’t I tell you? Public opinion is a fickle bitch.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You did. – But I still don’t get it. Why this inquiry? Is that … normal procedure? Can’t we just tell Remus what happened, he is a Ministry official, after all …”

Snape gave a quiet but harsh laugh. “That’s what I thought. However, it seems that I have offended some people by my, ah, lack of communication in the past months. So now they are making a big fuss with this inquiry, for no other reason, it appears, but to wheel me out into the open and let me have my say on … well, officially on the Leshnikov thing, but it will certainly go way more back in time.” It was clearly visible that he hated every bit of this prospect.

Elena digested the information. “And why do they want to hear _me_?”

“To corroborate my testimony. There seem to be doubts concerning my credibility.” Severus’ voice was laden with sarcasm.

“Oh, I see.” She considered all this for a few moments. “Well, of course I will.”

Another silence. Snape had turned his head away and stared into the shadows, flexing his fingers. “I expect it will be pretty straightforward. You can tell them everything, exactly how it was. Except for one thing.”

‘Here it comes’, she thought.

“They will ask you about the Time Turner. I’d be obliged if you didn’t tell that I gave it to you for good. Before you returned it, I mean.” More flexing of fingers. He still didn’t look at her. “Strictly speaking, giving it to you constitutes gross negligence.”

Elena exhaled. “It seems like a small thing compared to what happened …”

“If I understand Lupin correctly, I am to be taught a lesson. That I cannot walk between raindrops, or something to that effect, although I never assumed that I could. – Leshnikov wrote that to me, by the way.”

“What … do you mean by that? That he …”

“No, he certainly had nothing to do with this. But it worries me, that the same words were used. Like it was a metaphor for something.”

“A symbol of the time quality at work”, she said quietly.

His eyes met hers, held them. He nodded, and Elena realized that he, too, had been thinking about time quality and hence about that night when she had first told him about it.

“Of course, I will not tell them about the Time Turner”, she promised. “I will say that you borrowed it to me a few times so I could manage my day. No more.”

Severus nodded.

“Anything else I’m not to talk about?”

“I’ll leave that to your discretion.”

Elena watched him, waited, still suspicious. However, he appeared to have nothing to add. At the same time, he gazed at her so coolly that she could have got the impression that the events of the night in the tower were nothing but a figment of her imagination. But then, what had she expected? That he would suddenly become all gooey and sweet? Not Severus Snape, certainly.

She smiled at him. “So you can fly without a broom, huh?”

Another simple nod.

“Who taught you?”

Severus shook his head ruefully. “You don’t want to know.”

“I do.”

“Another time.” But there was the ghost of a smile. Then something seemed to occur to him. “By the way, I still have your wand. I thought you wouldn’t need it as long as you were here.”

“Does it do what you want it to do?”

“It works surprisingly well for me”, he admitted. “Must be the dragon heartstring. – But of course, I will get a new one.” He scowled, not much liking that prospect, either.

For a while, he remained seated at the edge of her bed, until suddenly a jolt went through his body as if he had remembered something important. “I have to leave. I shouldn’t be here in the first place.” He cocked an ironic eyebrow. “There’s another thing you shouldn’t tell anyone: that I was here. Influencing you before your testimony …”

“Gosh, is it that bad?” Her eyes widened. In spite of what he had told her, Elena had hoped that this inquiry was merely a formal matter. However, there seemed to be much more to it.

Instead of answering directly, Severus got up. “We should not see each other until after the inquiry.”

She looked up, stared. “Why?”

“Because you are the only other witness to the Leshnikov affair”, he explained evenly. “And we are not to make any arrangement with regard to our respective testimonies. I was very sternly cautioned about it.” He scoffed, then looked at her over his shoulder. “I don’t like it much, either.”

“But we _shall_ see each other?”

His gaze intensified and he slowly inclined his chin.

Impulsively, she stretched out her hand. She found she needed to touch him. Severus looked coolly at her hand, hesitated, then took it very gently. As he stood on the left side of the bed, it was her left hand. Elena sat up abruptly, squealed.

“What?” He looked alarmed, but held on to her hand.

“My finger’s whole!”

Another faint smile. “It’s called Skele-Gro. Be glad they gave it to you when you were out of it, because I had to take it once and it tastes awful. Regrows bones, though.”

She grinned. “The wizarding world never ceases to amaze me.”

“They couldn’t do anything about your earlobe, though. Skele-Gro only works for bones.”

“I suck at Apparition.”

“Yes, you do.”

While talking, his thumb absentmindedly caressed her little finger. In spite of lying in bed, Elena started to feel a little weak. It occurred to her that she couldn’t even remember the last time a man holding her hand had made her that dizzy.

“Sleep well now”, he whispered, looking down at her hand. “And don’t think about that inquiry too much.”

“Same goes for you. I’m sure it will be alright.”

However, Snape looked doubtful. He let go of her hand, and with a last intense gaze he swept towards the door, hood drawn, and slipped out like a ghost. Elena settled back in her bed again with Lux snuggling up to her side.

It took her a while to go back to sleep again. Thinking of the inquiry kept her awake. She wondered what was going to happen, and whether this was only the beginning of something else. It worried her and she went through a couple of scenarios in her head before she realized that she still knew far too little about the wizarding world for any of them to be realistic. She would just have to wait and see, but there was a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach.

However, there was also a warm and elated feeling. The one that made her grin every now and then, even laugh softly. Lux told her in no uncertain terms that he thought it was ridiculous, that a witch of any dignity didn’t behave like that. She told him that she was, after all, a Muggle witch and that she would not have her good mood spoilt by a jealous cat. Which, in turn, offended Lux – because cats are very proud and will never admit that they depend on a human being – and he rolled into a ball and went to sleep in a huff.

Only a short while later, she followed.

 

 

 

_THE (PROVISIONAL) END_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated November 2016


End file.
